Like A Cheesecake, Part IV: If There Is Something You Still Have
by Clio S.S
Summary: The story of Josh and Alain continues. The name of the fourth part inspired by Millenium and "The Circles Of Life".
1. Chapter 1

**1.**  
 _ **(your promises, they look like lies)**_

* * *

The beginning of May was a wonderful period when Josh enjoyed his life more then ever before. He had nearly lost what was the most important to him, yet he'd managed to get it back. Alain's illness - and everything it had brought about - made him understand once again how fragile his happiness was. It shook him so much he had trouble believing the crisis was really over. As long as he'd focused on acting... on moving forward - towards Alain's recovery - he wouldn't let any doubt bother him. However, when Alain did really return home, safe and sound, his all inner strength seemed to dry up. After that first evening of passion, Josh waked up in the middle of the night in the dark bedroom to frantically search for Alain's hand, frightened it had all been just a dream. His relief upon finding that Alain was really there, right beside him, was so strong he burst out crying - as if it was only now that the tension of the last weeks got to him. He couldn't even explain that spell to Alain since speaking was beyond his abilities, but Alain probably understood it anyway, for he gathered him into his arms and held like that until Josh calmed down. All of that was embarrassing on one hand, very sweet on the other, and... Well, he had to admit that in the last few years he'd become pretty much over-sensitive. Not that it bothered him; surely there were much worse things in a human life.

In any case, Alain was here again - at home, in his life, with him. And everything was just like it had been before. They could spend time together, could make up for that difficult time that was already past them. They would go out quite a lot and enjoy the spring - their first spring together, not counting that one in high school. Alain got a new tan - the one from their February trip had already vanished during his illness - and cut his hair. He contacted his employer to inform him he was still on a sick-leave but should soon return to work. As for Josh's duties... he'd rather not think about his studies, especially that he had only one exam left, some time in the next week; he'd already passed the developmental psychology, and with flying colours. He focused on being with Alain; everything else receded into the background, as it used to.

Two appointments with Dr Sellier proceeded without complications. To tell the truth, it was with some reluctance that Alain headed for Saint-Maurice Hospital - he probably feared he would be kept there again - but Josh didn't even assume they didn't show up. He had taken Alain's illness to heart and wanted to make sure that treatment was concluded according to the plan, and besides he believed that one should meet their obligations. The doctor was obviously contended with Alain's condition, that Josh described as perfectly normal, and him complying with her instructions, that was pharmacology. Josh assured her that Alain took the medication as prescribed - he gave it to him personally, just in case. The symptoms didn't recur, and on Monday Dr Sellier announced that Alain fully recovered from psychosis and could discontinue his medication in one month. She thanked them for their co-operation and wished all the best as well as hoped they would never meet again, at least not in hospital surrounding. Josh hoped for that, too, although - looking around the ward, he'd already acquainted himself with - he mused whether the clinical psychology wasn't worth some thought. He could at least try... have some residency or training... and he really liked this place. That was, as much as one could like a psychiatric ward anyway.

During the Friday meeting, they would talk more about Alain's diagnosis. Well, it was already established; however, the doctor wanted to cast light on some background issues. In the end, Alain wasn't diagnosed with a paranoid personality disorder, but the doctor pointed at something she described at dissociative traits. Josh had never heard about it and wasn't sure whether he understood the concept after the doctor's explanation either, even with the personality psychology course already completed. Generally speaking, even though a person had just one psyche, in some people - mostly owing to traumatic experience - a disturbance in functioning of its parts could occur. The most extreme form, the doctor continued, was what many used to call 'a split personality', when a person thought, and was somewhat - but only somewhat - right that there were two or more people inside him, each of them behaving in a different way. However, there were numerous dissociative disorders and they could appear with various intensity, but their common trait in almost every case was more or less severe amnesia.

At that point Josh already knew what was coming - and one glance at Alain's face told him he wasn't the only one. The doctor said that dissociative traits, too, could make a person susceptible to psychosis and that the best way to avoid it was to correct them with psychotherapy. She hypothesized that in Alain's case the main problem was his childhood adversities, that had never been worked out and as long as they didn't - and the mechanisms binding his psyche weren't strengthened - there was a risk both of another psychosis and untypical, seemingly unexplained changes in his behaviour. On the other hand, she added in a more gentle manner, stable life conditions, healthy lifestyle, and little stress acted as protective factors, which shouldn't be forgotten. That was all she had to say, but they could elaborate the topic on Monday if Alain felt like doing so. Alain didn't, and when they left her office commented instead, "Now she really made a complete nut of me," but his voice was somewhat downbeat.

Lost in thought, Josh only nodded, deciding that he wanted to know more about that dissociation... but, by the time they got home, he already forgot about it, for it was reality with Alain that occupied him much more than any hypothetical reflection upon his lover's psyche.

Actually, it was the case with everything else, too. He didn't pay even one visit to Mrs Bonnet in hospital; he was reminded of her existence only when one day he saw her across the street, apparently recovered. He was glad, but at the same time remorseful that he hadn't spared her a single thought during last week. It was the same with Pierre Roland; he hadn't talked with the journalist, even though the man had helped him so much. He simply didn't keep those people in mind. His life revolved around Alain, and Alain filled his whole sight and obscured every other person. It was always like that... and would probably always be; he used to think about it without emotion, really. He was aware that such a way of thinking wasn't good - Mr Ageais would always notice that - but for him it was the most natural thing in the world.

Speaking of neighbours... To tell the truth, he was glad not to meet any of them. Well, maybe it was really some avoidance on his part; subconsciously, he was afraid to be told that Alain and he should get out of here and never show their faces again. It was a completely irrational fear; if they were really requested to leave here, it would happen through the administration or the owner... so it could be that Josh was actually anxious to meet the neighbours, was afraid of their questions and curious looks... He supposed they wouldn't settle for a dry information that Alain had been in hospital, especially that they knew - 'half of the tenement' knew - what kind of treatment was in question, and that was not something Josh wanted or planned to talk about, for it was Alain's business and no-one else's. After a few days, however, he came to the conclusion that maybe it wasn't him avoiding the neighbours only the opposite - but it could be his overly sensitive intuition, too; apparently, he couldn't believe that the whole event didn't affect other occupants at all. But if the others really chose to stay away from them, it was nothing he help. He could only hope that the situation be back at normal, sooner or later. And it was his only worry in those days of almost perfect happiness.

* * *

It was mid-May already. On Friday, Josh returned home from his last exam, trying to believe that he finally had holidays. True, there was still the practice coming in June, but it didn't really count. On the other hand... the whole May so far was more like holidays, so there was hardly any difference; nevertheless... he didn't need to study, at last, and it was a splendid feeling! He hoped he'd passed this exam of today, too... He'd solved every question, although some of his answers were miserably short. Last night, he'd stayed until very late - he hadn't felt like getting to the books earlier - but the exam had started no sooner than ten o'clock, so he hadn't been entirely unconscious during it. And now it was all over!

As he climbed the stairs - actually the positive energy filling him urged him to jump - he wondered how they could celebrate the beginning of his holidays... that was, except for their normal way. Well, for example, he could cook something good... something he hadn't cooked before... No, it was probably mutually exclusive, and besides he didn't trust his skills on this matter. He was under the impression he'd forgotten everything that Mrs Bonnet had taught him, which wasn't much anyway... Then, maybe they should go out? The evenings were even longer and warmer, and it walk by the Seine or in the park was a pleasure... But they'd been going out all the time, recently, so it wouldn't really make any difference... Reaching the fourth floor, Josh decided that apparently he lacked imagination, for he couldn't really think about anything. But it was also true that he simply felt good in Alain's presence; the scenery was of less importance.

"I'm back!" he called, shutting the door behind him.

He was answered by silence. He looked around; Alain wasn't there. He must have gone out for shopping or something. Now that he'd recovered, he no longer had any problems with spending time outside, which made Josh really happy and was only sensible during such a fine weather. Alain was still on sick-leave; Dr Sellier's note was due end of May; if it wasn't enough, he should procure a new one from his general practitioner later. Personally, Alain felt he didn't need any sick-leave at all - he felt completely normal - but Josh had said that of course they would follow the doctor's instruction. He'd explained Alain that a psychosis wasn't a flu and that he should take his time to get himself back to his full functioning. Alain's gaze had clearly indicated he'd known what had been behind that Josh's concern, but he hadn't objected.

Actually, Alain really might have not needed that sick-leave; he had no symptoms and suffered no side effects of medication (that might be countless; having read the long list of them on the package leaflet, Josh had started to have doubts about the safety of pharmacotherapy in general... and then had remembered it was exactly the same case with the antibiotic last March, which had reassured him a bit). He only slept like a log every night with hardly anything able to wake him. Well, it had improved after adjusting the dose. Nevertheless, the doctor must have known what to do, and thinking this way Josh tried to deaden his feeling of guilt because of using the situation to satisfy his own ends. At least now, in May, he wanted to spend as much time with Alain as possible. And when he started his practice, Alain could go back to work. Now that he thought about it, he came to the conclusion he was a terrible egoist.

He poured himself some water in the kitchen, for jumping up to the fourth floor and the heat outside had made him quite thirsty. However, he barely managed to drink up when he heard knocking on the door. He raised his eyebrows, putting the empty glass on the table top. Who could it be? Alain had his own key, and no guests were coming... Yet, in such mood - summer! holidays! - he felt like conquering the world and didn't fear even Jehovah's witnesses, so he no longer thought about it only opened the door.

He saw neither Jehovah's witnesses nor tradesmen, only Mrs Bonnet, with whom he hadn't talked for - he counted quickly - nearly three weeks. He noticed that the old lady didn't look well: she'd lost some weight, seemed to have shrunk. Apparently, the illness and hospitalization had taken their toll on her; she wasn't a young person.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Bonnet!" he called cheerfully, though, realizing he was really glad to see her. His earlier reflection on the neighbours sank into oblivion. "What can I do for you? Please, come inside," he invited her; then, as she clearly hesitated, reached out to her.

She stared at him with some surprise. As if involuntarily, she stretched her hand and then stopped half-way. Josh took her by her elbow and gently yet firmly guided onto the couch. No, she definitely didn't seem well; there was some anxiety in her eyes, and she was breathing heavily. What disturbed him the most was her expression; he couldn't quite remember having seen her without a smile.

"Mrs Bonnet, are you all right?" he asked; then, never waiting for the reply, offered her a glass of water. "Drink it, please," he said with concern, giving her uncertain look, and sat next to her.

Her hand was shaking when she put the glass up to her lips; she took maybe two sips. Josh was glad it was still not too hot in the flat; the sun had only started to come inside the room, and the windows were closed. But could it even affect her condition? He doubted it.

"Did anything happen, Mrs Bonnet?" he asked when she still wouldn't say anything. "You shouldn't have climbed up here. Even I can tell you have yet to get your strength back... Or do you need me for something? Please, tell me, I'll help you as much as I can..."

She opened her mouth, but only a whisper came out. He had to lean over to understand her words. "I had to come here... Mr Alain..." she uttered, and Josh felt a sudden pang of terror in his chest. "Mr Alain... stopped by today... before noon..."

He squeezed her hands. "Has anything happened to Alain?" he asked, staring her in the eye; he sounded calm, but his heart was already racing.

"He... said he had to leave..." the older woman replied with difficulty, and Josh's heart stopped. "He left... and said you shouldn't... look for him..." She gasped for air.

Josh shivered. "Mrs Bonnet... Mrs Bonnet, what do you mean?" he asked in despair.

"He said... he had to leave," the neighbour repeated in a breaking voice, and the next moment her face contorted, her eyes rolled back in her head, and the woman slumped onto the coach.

Josh was sitting petrified, trying to control himself. His thoughts - like always in such situations - scattered all over, and he was only aware that his heart was painfully thumping in his chest, his head was humming, and his mind was frantically trying to flee from comprehending and making any conclusions... making any decisions. The next moment he snapped out of it and focused his gaze on the motionless figure in front of him. Mrs Bonnet required immediate help; this one thing was clear.

He jumped up to his feet, dashed into the staircase and hammered on the door to Francis' flat. When he wasn't answered in three seconds, he started to bang on the next door, the Bernards'. It opened right away, and when he explained the situation, stuttering and faltering, the neighbours called for ambulance. The lady - a retired nurse, it appeared - used his help to lay Mrs Bonnet down on the couch, but everything in her stance indicated there was hurry. Her husband got down in order to guide the medical staff. The ambulance came after a few minutes, but it seemed like the eternity. Josh was standing in the middle of the room, wrenching his fingers and wondering whether he was the only one having such an unreal impression. He stared at one woman taking care of the other, unconscious, on his couch... and then at the group of people wearing uniforms of health service entering his flat and swiftly undertaking emergency treatment... and felt as if he wasn't here at all... as if he was watching some film that had nothing to do with himself. Mrs Bonnet was put on the stretcher and took to the ambulance; at the same time one member of the unit wrote down information that Josh could give, although it seemed to him it was someone else talking - someone who was much more shocked and distressed by this situation.

The medical staff had long disappeared, Mrs Bernard went back, too, but Josh's hands were still shaking. He was sitting by the table, trying to calm down, but in vain. His mind seemed to be covered in a wool... as if the whole external world had ceased existing and only he was left, along with what was inside him. His heart, beating too fast. His lungs, that couldn't get enough air. His muscles, so tense he couldn't overcome the tremble. His insides, that got twisted into a tight knot. And his head, that didn't feel like working - detached from everything. He knew that state, as he knew that pain he didn't want to acknowledge, didn't want to accept - for he would fall to pieces. It always happened when...

He pressed both his hands to his face but couldn't contain the sob. He didn't want it... he didn't want to cry like a child... but this pain was stronger. That horrible feeling of loneliness, disappointment, abandonment... Being abandoned was the worst, it seemed to burn a hole in his chest and paralyse. He shrank in the chair, trying to hold back tears. For a split second, he wasn't even sure why he felt like crying.

Some voice in his head attempted to comfort him, saying that Mrs Bonnet was ill, had collapsed, that he shouldn't believe her, shouldn't take her words seriously, that it was some misunderstanding, some funny situation that would be cleared up in no time... but the rest of him, all his self clung to those words he had been told - and to their truth. To their reality. He had known right away it was true.

Why?

What happened?

His head ached, it was hard to concentrate... If he could find the answer to these two questions, maybe he would be able to understand... Why? What happened?

Alain had left.

His lips quivered again; he bit them hard, almost making them bleed. He couldn't self-pity. Not now. Not yet. It wouldn't do... and there were more important things. Yes. He must not jump to the worst option. There were surely another reasons, some explanation... He had to make his mind operate. Staying like this, a bundle of emotions, wouldn't help - even if he really wanted to shiver, sob, shout, give in to that feeling of loneliness and fear... sink into despair and surrender to belief that thinking would only worse his state and was pointless... He clenched his fingers on the fabric of his shirt so that they turned white, and force himself to open his eyes, then fix it on one spot on the carpet, until he was here and now again, not swirling in some dark emptiness... until he could form thoughts again, although each of them made him feel another pang in his heart.

Why? Was Alain discontented with anything? Had Josh said or done something wrong? Was being together no longer good for him? Or maybe he had a relapse? But no, yesterday Alain had acted normally... as had today morning, too. And he'd been taking the medication as ordered. Had anything happened in the time of Josh's exam? Had he received some sudden news?

Although it cost him incredibly much strength, Josh rose from the chair and went to the bedroom in order to look inside the wardrobe. Everything was in place... as if Alain had left just like that. That meant he'd been in hurry. Maybe something really had happened... to his mother, perhaps...

Josh clenched his fists. Even if it was the case, why hadn't he left any message? Well, he had: with Mrs Bonnet. But what kind of message was that? It didn't explain anything... He pulled his hand to his chest again. 'He said he had to leave... He said you shouldn't look for him.' Not one word about what had happened, about any accident, about any urgent matter. Not one word about... about coming back. About making a contact. About anything.

Josh bit his lips again, then approached the window and looked out, although he really couldn't see a thing - neither the yard, nor the doves, nor the sun. The next moment he ran down the stairs and to the phone box on the square. His hands shaking, he inserted the coins and dialled a number. He could barely hear the tone over the buzzing in his ears... one, two, three... and then suddenly engaged. Alain wasn't picking up...! He didn't want to pick up. Josh clenched his teeth and dialled again.

 _"The chosen number is unavailable..."_

He shut his eyes tight and was standing with the receiver in his hand, trying to calm down his pounding heart, but to no avail. He felt like the most wretched person in the universe.

Alain didn't want to talk with him... Maybe he couldn't, maybe it was the bad time, yet... He'd turned off the phone. He had decided against talking with Josh. It was as if his heart had just been pierced with something long and sharp. It didn't matter that Alain couldn't know who'd called him; only that he hadn't answered mattered.

Finally, Josh lifted his eyelids, although he didn't really felt like watching the world - and his eyes caught the sticker next to the keyboard. Directory enquiries. He punched out the combination almost involuntarily...

"Directory inquiries, how can I help you?" he heard a nice female voice.

"I..." he started and gulped. "I'd like to know a certain person's phone number. Is it possible?"

"That's why we're here, Sir," the operator replied merrily. "If you could give me that person's full name along with their address..."

"Corail. Lilian Corail. But I don't know her address," he said in a low voice. "I only know she lives in Esperanto..."

"Let's see... Esperanto isn't that big. And Corail isn't a common name, either... You say Lilian Corail? I have the number." Josh's heart, that had been racing for a longer while now, leapt. "Do you have something to write it down, Sir?"

Josh looked around frantically and was relieved to see a pencil stub tucked between the phone and the shelf. "I do, please tell me."

He wrote the number on the board - just like many desperate men before him - then thanked and rang off. He didn't give himself time to think only dialled it right away. His heart wasn't slowing down.

"Corail," he heard the voice he'd never wanted hear again.

"Mrs Corail... It's Joshua Or... I don't know if you remember me, we talked on the phone the other day..." he stuttered.

"Who? Ah, Alain's self-proclaimed friend. What is it about?" she said impatiently, and suddenly Josh didn't know what it was he wanted to ask.

He clenched his both hands on the receiver and gulped. "Mrs Corail... Did... did anything happen? Alain disappeared, out of the blue and without a word, and... I worry about him. I thought that maybe something happened... in his family... and that's why he'd suddenly left and-" He paused. He felt like a total idiot, and he probably sounded like one.

"Nothing happened. I've no idea what are you talking about," Mrs Corail replied dryly.

"And you... are you all right, Madame? Everything is fine?" Josh asked unintentionally.

"Am iI/i all right? Now that's some impudence on your part, don't you think?" she bridled. "We don't even know each other..."

Josh cowered. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean..." he uttered. What had got into him to expose himself to her anger? She was perfectly right, he didn't know her... only had spoken with her once... and yet he didn't want to enrage her. Not today.

"Everything's fine with me," she replied unexpectedly. "As for that good-for-nothing son of mine, you shouldn't worry about him. He has nine lives. He's just known for running away whenever something's not to his liking. I'll never forget that he'd run away from his own wedding... But well, it was a good thing, wasn't it? He only would've ruined that girl's life. I'd like to see a woman who'd stay with him. And you know what...? You should keep away from him, too, for your own good," she said surprisingly. "But now it's too late for such advices, I think," she added with irony. "Apparently, he-"

Josh hung up with a bang... He didn't want to hear more! It was all the same whether Mrs Corail would be mad at him or not... the conversation only worsened his mood. Why ever had he called her? Well, at least he'd learned that there was no family matter responsible for Alain's sudden departure... but what did it give him? Nothing. All the worse, what Mrs Corail had said about Alain running away whenever something was not to his liking... His chest ached again. He swallowed and brushed his hair from his forehead. No, he wasn't going to think about that - although he felt he was sinking deeper and deeper in despair.

He took a deep breath. No, first he had... he had to learn the truth. He had to know what had happened... even if some voice in his head told him it was all too late. Think, Joshua, think... There was surely more, only Mrs Bonnet hadn't manage to tell him everything. Yes, that was probably so. And maybe... A sudden idea made his heart jump. Maybe Alain _had_ left a message? Maybe it was somewhere, maybe it had fallen down, and that was why he hadn't noticed...? And he hadn't even looked for it, to begin with. Yes, first he needed to get home and have a good look... It seemed his energy was replenished when he headed back to rue Keller and ran up the stairs to search on the tables and the chest of drawers, in the wardrobes and the cupboards, under the bed and the couch...

Only to find nothing. No note, no the smallest strip of paper. Not in the kitchen, not in the living-room, not in the bedroom. Not on any door, not on any wall, not on the floor. There was no information, and there was no Alain. There was Alain's favourite coffee mug, and Alain's jacket in the hall he used to put on during colder days. His other pairs of shoes were placed under the rack. In the bathroom were his towel and toothbrush. Everything was there - except for Alain. As if he'd popped out, as if he were to come back any moment...

'He said you shouldn't look for him.'

Josh suppressed another crying spell that was already clenching his throat. It was as if Alain had suddenly gone out of his life... without taking anything with him, without caring about what he'd left behind, for it no longer mattered to him.

He put his hand from his mouth. Mrs Bonnet... she must have known more. He had to have her tell him. He had to speak with her. There must have been something in addition to what he'd been told. He would visit her in the hospital and ask... The medical unit informed where they'd planned to take her; it was the same facility she'd been admitted to earlier... and Josh hadn't paid her even a single visit...

Focused on his goal, he reached his destination and made his way to the room the older lady occupied, according to the reception staff. There, however, he saw a group of people, and guessed they were the family members... The middle-aged couple must have been Mrs Bonnet's daughter and her husband... And those two girls were probably no other than granddaughter Anne and her girlfriend. His sudden determination left him; however, as he was hesitating in the doorway, he was spotted by one of the girls. Her questioning look made the man and the woman turn back and look at him.

"I'm sorry, I came to visit..." he explained, abashed. "I didn't want to disturb you, I'm a neighbour..."

"Is it you who called the ambulance, Mister?" the woman asked, rising from the chair and wiping her tears. "I'm Sophie Moulin," she said, stretching her hand. "I'm so grateful. If not for you, my mother would-" She covered her mouth with a handkerchief again. "I'm sorry," she uttered. "Thank you so much. Please, come in."

Josh had no choice; leaving now wouldn't do. He exchanged greetings with the other people - and thus he also got to know Anne, the black-haired scrag with a lip piercing, and Fleur, a blond beauty with very blue and very sharp eyes. When he introduced himself, the girls exchanged meaningful looks, and Fleur gave him a subtle smile, so he guessed he'd been as familiar to them as they were to him.

Mrs Bonnet was lying still on the bed, her face very pale. She had a drip in her right arm; on her other side was a monitor emitting constant beeps. A nurse would check on her every few minutes.

"Her condition is very serious," Mrs Moulin said quietly. "She has yet to regain consciousness. And she didn't even manage to recover from the fists stroke, too..." Her husband touched her arm to comfort her. "She never complained, we didn't know she was ill..."

Suddenly, Josh felt really bad. He was under the impression that even greater load weighed on him - and if it had been mostly the burning pain filling him so far, now it seemed to him there was freezing cold spreading in his chest. He hadn't thought it could be worse than that - yet it was. How much of that would he bear...?

"It's my fault," he whispered dully, fixing his eyes on the floor. "In our house... in my flat... there were bad things happening recently. It must have shocked Mrs Bonnet a lot, she's been enjoying living there... and yet we, new occupants... That first time when she fell ill... she saw my... she saw one of the neighbours being assaulted... The police came... and... that was a very violent incident." He gulped. "And today... today something must have made her remember that... and she became very upset... and that's why she... That's my fault...!" he repeated and slumped on a vacant chair, burying his face in his hands.

He had no strength left; he wanted to disappear for good, vanish from this world for ever... so that he didn't need to feel so despicable... This moment, he didn't believe he would ever experience anything good again.

"But... what are you saying?" Mrs Moulin's words reached him over the humming in his head.

"A cerebral stroke isn't something to get just from being upset," a clear, resonant voice was to be heard. "Of course, a sudden increase in blood pressure can trigger off the attack of the disease, but it will never occur in a previously healthy person."

"Listen to her," he heard Mrs Moulin again. "Our Fleur is finishing her medical studies... she knows what she says. Please, don't reproach yourself, it's... It wouldn't do. The situation is sad enough."

"I don't think Grandma would lay the blame on you," now it was Anne speaking, and there was some caution to her voice. "She would be even less happy to see you accusing yourself like that. She often talks about you... It seems you're her favourite neighbour."

Josh, however, felt that, no matter what they said, it wouldn't ease his conscience. Actually, it was even worse now: 'favourite neighbour' shouldn't bring down such misery on people... If he wanted to be precise, the main culprit was Alain... but it didn't change the fact that Josh was involved, too... and with Alain absent... he felt responsible... And it hurt so much.

He got up and wiped his face with his sleeve; then he gave unconscious Mrs Bonnet one more look. "I'm sorry," he said, although saying something like that seemed a great misunderstanding. He was apologizing for what had happened, for his coming here, for his outburst - only that apologizing couldn't change a thing.

His gaze downcast, he left the room. He had nothing to do here; he might as well leave those people with their sorrow. It wasn't until he got down the stairs that he realized he hadn't learned anything... and his mood grew even worse. When he was in the main hall he felt someone's hand on his shoulder. He turned around to stare in Fleur's clear eyes.

"Please, wait a minute, I'd like to speak with you..." she said, standing next to him. He realized she was as tall as he. "It is you who explained to grandma... I mean, Mrs Amelia... how it was with me and Anne, isn't it? Well, maybe not 'explained', only helped her understand...?"

Josh nodded, although it was the last thing he might think about now. He was too tired, he just wanted to leave here... "It's what she wanted from the beginning. It only took her a while," he replied.

"Anne and I, we are very grateful. You really helped us a lot," she said, giving him a kind look. "Please, tell me, what can we do for you?"

Josh averted his eyes. He didn't feel like having this conversation, but the girl - actually, a women older than he - wouldn't give up. "I can tell you have some trouble..." she added.

He decided her self-confidence was incredible. He thought involuntarily that it must have originated from her looks. She was tall, with that mane of fair hair and unusually blue eyes. It could be she was used to have things always go according to her will. And now, in addition, she was in love, was loved back and was accepted in a relationship.

"I'd like to do something to help you," she insisted.

"No-one can help me," he replied more harshly he'd intended to. "Sorry," he added in a lower voice and looked down, for there was too much understanding and compassion in her eyes he could bear right now.

He turned back to leave. He was fed up with her; she was the last person he wanted to hang with. Her happiness, that made her nearly perfect, hurt him too much.

"In any case, thank you. Please, let us know if we can be of any use," her voice reached him, but he could hardly hear it.

He had no idea how he'd managed to get home - he hadn't boarded the wrong train, hadn't missed his change and hadn't got off too early or too late - but when he was already inside, when the door had shut behind him, he thought he didn't really want to be here... in this empty flat that all life had vanished from. But where could he go? There was no other place for him... and every other was as good - as bad - as here. He fell on the bed and covered his face with one arm. Everything seemed so pointless... He tried to once more gather all facts, find some solution, some explanation - but everything just swirled around one thought.

Alain had left.

Pain was so strong it stopped his breath and brought tears to his eyes.

How could that be possible? Only a few hours ago, in the morning... everything had been fine. Or maybe it was Josh who'd thought everything to be fine? He realized something that not so long would simply be impossible: now he could be deceived so easily. Before, he'd used to be vigilant, to always know the situation, and to look out for his benefit. No-one could beat him; no-one could trick him. But nowadays... he used to be blind to anything as long as he was happy. Such was the reality. With Alain by his side, he didn't care about anything, wasn't bothered by anything. Maybe Alain... had taken advantage of it? Maybe he'd just faked that intimacy, that love, that happiness - in order to deceive him and disappear without a word? Josh wouldn't have noticed... hadn't noticed until it had happened.

Yet, he just couldn't believe that. Anyone else could act that way - but not Alain. Alain would vanish exactly like this, without any tricks, without intentional cruelty, without rows, without anything, if something was not 'to his liking'. Josh pressed his eyelids tight, as much as he could. In the end, Mrs Corail knew Alain better, even though during the last year... and many years of high school they would only occasionally talk on the phone. But she was his mother; she'd given birth to him and brought him up, had been learning him right from the start... And Josh had known him only one year.

Why? What it was that he hadn't liked about Josh? And even if something really wasn't to his liking, why hadn't he said anything? Why hadn't asked about anything? Hadn't suggested anything? Hadn't trusted? Why it was that there was still no trust between them? Why it was that Alain still didn't know he could tell Josh absolutely anything? They had been doing _those_ things together, for God's sake! Alain should realize that Josh was all his and accepted him, Alain, in the whole. Then why...?

Did he really not want him any more?

If so, then the promises like 'I will never let go of you' didn't matter. If you stopped loving someone... then you could as well forget all about it. Then it was no use asking and explaining, suggesting or demanding - then there was really nothing left. One could go out of one life and enter another.

'He said you shouldn't look for him.'

Josh pressed his face into the pillow and swallowed bitter tears.

His happiness had lasted one year. One year of happiness in twenty years of his life. Surely, some people probably didn't even have that... but this time it couldn't console him.

Josh lay like that for a very long time, until it turned dark. Sleep wouldn't come; maybe it was driven away by the realization that after he waked up in the morning, tomorrow... Alain still wouldn't be there, wouldn't be back... The new day couldn't bring any change, any comfort, any relief... It wasn't a problem he could sleep through; when he waked up, it would still be as difficult and painful as it was now. He couldn't believe like children do: that the bad dream would end and everything would be just fine.

He was afraid of that morning to come.

* * *

 _30 Seconds To Mars, "Attack"_


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**  
 _ **(kaupunki on täynnä muistoja)**_

* * *

Josh spent the next three days in bed. It seemed to him all his strength had left him, and besides... what should he get up for, actually? For whom? The flat was silent and empty, someone would ring the bell or knock on the door every now and then, but for him all people had ceased existing. None of them was Alain, and so they might as well disappear. He hoped he could disappear himself, yet it didn't happen.

In that big bed, in the bedroom he had used to share with Alain, he felt horribly lonely. There was no-one to comfort him, and that thought was miserable. No-one cared for him; other people lived happily, insensitive to those in sorrow. He was perfectly aware he could blame only himself for that, and it didn't improve his mood. He was like that, too: insensitive to others as long as he was happy. When it was that he'd talked with Erwin for the last time? He didn't even remember... probably many months ago. Now he didn't even feel like doing so. Erwin would say that he'd always known it would end this way. That Alain Corail would only make Josh sad. Erwin could hold grudge for a long time and remembered about his friends getting hurt... while Josh tried to forgive them... at least, in Alain's case. He'd always believed it to be the last time... that it would never happen again... that everything would be fine from now on. When it was about Alain, he always lacked objectivity, while Erwin excelled at it. Erwin would say that Josh should have never associated himself with Alain, never, from the very beginning... but Josh, even now, was of the opinion that he could bear with it... that even those partings, those difficult months and years, all that pain and suffering... that it wasn't too high price for that wonderful time when he _had been_ together.

After three days he was no longer so sure.

Why it hurt so much? How could it be possible that psychical suffering made such terrible physical pain? Whenever he thought about it, he was under the impression his chest was being stabbed with a sharp tool - and that sensation was so strong, so debilitating...

Well, frankly speaking, he knew why... or, at least, he thought he knew. They'd been talking about it with Mr Ageais, and it related to the loss he'd suffered in his early childhood. The therapist had theorized that Josh must have lost his parents when he'd been no younger than six months and not older than two years; the upper limit of time because he had no memory of his parents, and the lower because his patterns of feeling and reacting, although somewhat disturbed (or defective, like Josh used to describe it himself), _had_ developed, which wouldn't be possible without an intimate relation with his mother in the first months of his life. When Josh had lost his mother, which must have happened in more or less dramatic - and certainly unexpected - circumstances, he'd been too young to comprehend it rationally. Children started to 'understand' things only when several years old; until then, everything happened on the biological level, which meant that psychical experiences caused, first and foremost, physical sensations: good experiences gave pleasure, while bad experiences gave pain. When his mother disappeared - and it was the main point here - Josh must have felt it as an awfully strong pain. And that pain would be back at every parting... at every abandonment. It was as if Josh relived that loss - which he couldn't have prevented and guarded himself against - anew.

Mr Ageais had been of the opinion that matter required a long-term therapy, but Josh hadn't found it necessary. How he was reproaching himself for such blindness now... He'd been really hopeless, believing his happiness would last for ever and no problem would never arise again.

Believing that Alain would never leave him again. Just like he'd promised.

Maybe it was a lesson for him... Maybe he should at last do something with himself and his life... and try to really change? Really start thinking in a different way, instead of pulling the wool over his eyes and believe in an eternal idyll? Maybe, if he did, he would be able to finally mature... move forward... instead of feeling he was still sixteen and had never grown up...?

After three days of such reflection, he could even tell himself: Alain had left him? So what? Was it the first time? Well, the thought still burned like fire in his chest, but at least he managed to form it in his head. The next one, however, 'not the first time and not the last,' required more courage he currently had, and he wasn't sure whether it would comfort or hurt him even more. Apart from that, his mood kept swinging... but only between 'bad' and 'very bad'. For example, he could think that even if he somehow managed now, he wouldn't survive _the next_ parting... and after just one hour he would reach the desperate conclusion that, if the parting was the price for the presence, he would accept even that. He was under the impression he'd fallen into the deepest regions of wretchedness.

When he managed to get up the next day, he congratulated himself on it, for it seemed he'd pulled off the most difficult thing in the world. To tell the truth, he'd still felt like lying down, but some persistent voice in his head would tell him he should stop that self-pity - and wouldn't leave him be, so Josh just had had to listen to it.

It took him half a day to make himself look like a human being again, for he did everything very slowly. He would slowly take a bath, slowly brush his hair, and slowly shave... His hands were weak, and he lacked energy. Not eating for the three days might have something to do with it, too, but he wasn't hungry. However, the same voice that had induced him to get up, persuaded him to eat something now. Thus, he made himself a sandwich from the rest of a stale bread he'd found in the kitchen and was now sitting by the table, chewing that extremely unappetizing meal and staring through the window. Well, even if it were some delicacies, he would be able to enjoy them in his present condition, so it was all the same... At least, there was tea.

His mood was still far from bearable, but deep inside he felt some satisfaction - probably owing to having got up, cleaned himself and eaten, even if it'd taken him several hours. However, the next problem arose: what now? One glance at the calendar told him it was Tuesday - the first Tuesday of his holidays... His heart clenched in a warning, but this time pain was somehow dulled. Why it was that his holidays always started so badly...? That time, in high school, it had been the same: the summer had started, and Alain had disappeared. Last year, too... He hadn't been feeling entirely good when coming to Idealo to attend Erwin's and Cecile's wedding, had he? Well, true, the situation had quickly changed and he'd spent most of his holidays in a way he hadn't even imagined... But thinking about it now only depressed him more, so he stopped.

He fixed his eyes on the calendar. Holidays... In two weeks he should start his practice, although now it seemed completely impossible. But what was his alternative? To stay at empty home and stare at the walls? No, no, never. He would go mad; it was much better to go to that practice...

Something made him return to the kitchen and look into the cupboard he'd opened when making himself tea. He gaped at the empty shelf; it had diverted his attention a moment ago already, but only now he understand it.

Alain had taken his medicine.

He blinked, trying to process that thought. Alain hadn't taken anything else - except for himself and the clothes on him - only that medicine. Why that, exactly? What could it mean? What-

He caught himself trying to find a reason again... understand why Alain had disappeared... figure out his actions. But what good would it do now? Would it make Alain return? Instead of trying to be smart and analyse with hindsight, which was completely meaningful, he should have realized Alain's intentions. Only that Alain... at any point... hadn't given him to understand that he'd intended to...

That he'd taken the medication mean nothing. Nothing. At least nothing good for Josh. It only proved that Alain had been completely sane when leaving here. That his decision to abandon Josh had been a conscious action of a lucid mind. A bitter realization it was.

His throat clenched, but no tears flew; apparently, he'd shed them all during the last three days. He returned to his chair, placed his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on his hands. He had... he had to think... about what to do now. Now. Not in one month or in one year. He had no strength to imagine his life without Alain. He had... he had to decide what he was going to do today, this month... But it was so hard to gather his thoughts, make any decisions... All he wanted was to keep sitting like this, for every effort seemed beyond his abilities.

Practice... He'd been thinking about the practice; he should focus on it. It started in June, two weeks from now... But what he was going to occupy himself with until then? Maybe he should try to advance it? Yes, it was a good idea. He would visit the university, the dean's office... On his way, he would see whether he'd passed the last exam, although nothing interested him less than that. He still had time; it was only first o'clock, and the dean's office was open until three...

He spent one more quarter on the chair before forcing himself to get up. The weather was wonderful, so he didn't need a jacket. Soon, he was sitting in the metro and blankly observing other passengers, also couples in the advent of summer. How would his summer with Alain look? Probably just like that... Even if they didn't leave Paris, they would spend time together and... His throat clenched again.

He twitched, realizing the train stopped at his station, and darted to the exit. It was all the same to him, yet he'd rather not return the whole distance. It was pretty crowded at the university; he must have happened upon a break between the lectures. Other people would run into him or hit him every now and then, but he didn't care. He had no energy to pay attention to others... Finally, he managed to get through the crowd and reach the result board of the second year... He looked for his name and saw he'd passed the exam - by just one point. He didn't feel any joy, only relief that there was no need to bother himself with that any more. And that the exam had been last Friday; if it had been this week, he wouldn't have been able to focus on it. No, he probably wouldn't have even taken it... But what kind of luck was that...? He lowered his head and wondered again why the fate was so harsh on him.

He broke out of a reverie after a longer while. Now he only needed to go to the office and inquire about the practice. It was the right place, wasn't it...? He could vaguely remember that, in the beginning of term, they had signed up for the particular facilities... and that list had gone to the dean's office...

However, upon getting there and explaining his problem, he quickly regretted having taken lightly his luck just a moment ago. Well, he didn't run across that unpleasant hag from the last month, only a young woman with a kind look, but all the greater contrast when, having browsed through the specific folder, she said, "Mr Or? I can't see your name here at all."

He blinked. "But... why? I signed up for this practice already in March... maybe even February," he replied with frustration. "When the list was announced."

"Have you confirmed your choice?"

Confirmed? No, he hadn't. Now was the first time he'd heard about it.

"At the end of April, all students were requested to confirm the place of the practice," the secretary explained. "Where did you plan to have yours?"

"In the House of Blessed Gratia." Josh remembered the name only because it made him think of Grace.

"Yes... Well, now there's another person's name here..." the woman stated, troubled.

Josh froze. "Then, what am I going to do now?" he whispered.

"We can, of course, arrange a new place for you," she replied, putting the papers aside. "If the associate dean permits it," she muttered. "You have best talk with him," she encouraged him with a smile.

For a moment, Josh stood undecided before nodding when he realized he had no choice. The secretary picked up the receiver, and he listened to the conversation distractedly, 'A student is here to see you, Sir... Yes... It's about the practice... Yes. Thank you.'

"The associate dean will receive you right away," she said. "You'll find his office when you go-"

"Thank you, I know where it is," Josh replied. 'Although I wish I didn't,' he added in his head.

How would the dean react upon seeing him again, and in such a short time, on top of it? He would probably come to the conclusion that Josh was nothing but trouble... Alain had probably thought that, too; he'd found Josh annoying or something of that kind...

He shook his head. He couldn't enter the professor's office, looking as miserable as sin... even if it was like he felt. He took a deep breath, smoothed his hair and knocked on the door; having heard 'Enter', he pressed the handle.

This time, the associate dean was sitting by his desk, browsing through some documents, but at the sight of Josh he put the sheets of paper down and rose, reaching out a hand. "Mr Or, I didn't expect to see you so soon," he said his greetings; he didn't seem angry with Josh for being bothered by him again. Maybe he did like the students and didn't consider them necessary evil, like most professors did...?

Josh shook hands with him. "I'm surprised you remembered my name, Sir," he replied, somewhat confused.

"My... It's easy to remember," the man said, sitting down in his armchair again and showing Josh the place opposite him. "You come from Esperanto, don't you?" he guessed and, when Josh nodded, observed him for a moment as if he wanted to add something. In the end, he only asked, "What can I do for you this time? If I understand correctly, it concerns your practice period...?"

Josh squeezed his hands on his lap. "It appears I haven't confirmed my place... that time, at the end of April..." he said outright. "And now it's gone to another person. I was told in the office that a new place may be arranged... if you give your consent, Sir."

"Ah, it was when you were absent due to your relative's illness, isn't it? Well, it's understandable that you wouldn't think about that," the associate dean responded compassionately.

Josh preferred not to admit he hadn't known about the matter at all, in the first place, so he remained silent.

"By the way, did everything ended favourably?" the professor inquired, and his curiosity seemed genuine. The reason for it became clear when he went on, "I ask because, forgive me, you don't look well..."

Josh gulped. Apparently, his general indisposition stood out... but, to tell the truth, it was all the same to him. "Yes, it's all fine now... Alain recovered and was discharged from hospital," he said, although he felt as if someone else was speaking. "As for me... The end of term took its toll on me." He tried to smile, but failed miserably. "I was sick for three days... and left the bed only today," he confessed. "I feel better already," he added and really believed it, for a moment.

"How are your examinations?" the dean asked kindly.

"I passed," Josh replied in a soft voice.

"Then, let me congratulate you," he heard. It seemed the professor was truly contended... and it was a nice thing, too. Josh realized that, after spending three days with just his own negative thoughts, he yearned for some kindness, while the professor obviously was giving it to him. "Once you've completed that practice period, you'll be the third-year student. Speaking of what..." He paused. "Well, it can be somewhat problematic. I mean that matter of your practice," he qualified, as if it wasn't clear. "We always have to go to great lengths to arrange those training places for our students. Apparently, people in charge of the facilities don't trust your skills... We almost need to beg them... as if we were one level below," he muttered, more to himself than Josh.

Josh listened to that with growing dejection. All that business didn't look good to him... Always only difficulties. "Actually, I'd like to start that practice period as soon as possible," he said quietly, not looking at the professor. "That's why I came here today and..." he paused.

" _As soon as possible_ is probably the biggest problem here," the dean replied. "It usually takes a great deal of time to negotiate a new place. As of today, it is certain you won't start the practice by the 1st of June, and probably it will happen even later."

Josh clenched his fists and lowered his head even more. What would he do for two weeks...? The very thought of staying in Paris without any occupation, all alone, made him sick. "But," he frantically tried to think something up, "even if someone else took my place... theirs should be free...?" He raised his eyes upon the man. He was almost proud of himself for having drawn such a conclusion in his state.

The professor, however, shook his head. "Confirmation was required so that the university could settle up with the facilities on time and that the facilities could plan their schedule for June in advance. Now the goose is cooked. It will be delayed for a whole month... at least one month. You probably realize that it's not only psychology students that have such practice periods, but also those of medicine and social science. Most of them have do it in July and August, making the facilities nearly overcrowded. The number of places is limited, and we're talking about thousands of students. No, we will have to start everything from the beginning," he stated but didn't seem to be particularly depressed about it.

Contrary to Josh, who suddenly was pretty sure that he shouldn't even dream of going to the third year. Although... did it really matter now...?

"Unless..." The associate dean started to tap his fingers on the desk and then reached for a blue folder lying on his right, under other documents. He opened it and browsed its content before looking at Josh again. "Mr Or, how much do you want to have that practice completed?" he asked a catchy question, and it was obvious he had an idea.

However, Josh only shook his head; he was too tired for any games. "It's best if you just say what you are thinking about, Sir," he replied in a resigned voice.

The dean gave him a penetrating look, and Josh hoped that his lack of enthusiasm would be mistaken for fatigue after the illness.

"In that case, I'm going to speak openly with you and make an offer. I'd like you to hear me out," the professor said and his gaze returned to the papers he'd taken out of the folder. "At the beginning of the month, our department was contacted by a facility... precisely, a psychiatric hospital from the south. It's not so big place, situated near the border with Esperanto. The director has been my friend since our younger days... This spring, their only psychologist fell gravely ill and had to resign from his post forthwith. They've been struggling against the lack of personnel for a longer time; there's only two psychiatrists working on several wards. But, since they are the only hospital in the big area, closure is not an option; they only shut down one ward, temporarily. Eugene... that is, the director is currently looking for a psychologist, but it's very hard to find a new worker, especially in the advent of summer. He also sent the letters to every department of psychology, asking for a fifth-year or fourth-year student, to relieve the personnel. Eugene realizes it's only a momentary solution, but he needs one more worker to talk with patients, and immediately. The nursing staff is overburdened with their duties, and there's only two doctors, like I said."

Josh listened to that first indifferently, then curiously, and then anxiously, while the associate dean continued, "This week I was contacted again. Eugene alarms that the situation hasn't improved, which meant there are still no candidates... It's nothing strange: the exams are round the corner, so it's really impossible to send there anyone. You, however..."

Josh stared at him in disbelief. "But... Professor, Sir, I'm a student of the _second_ year," he uttered. "What can I do? So far, we didn't even have to do with patients... The clinical psychology comes only next year-"

"Mr Or, why do you study psychology?" the associate dean interrupted him.

Josh looked at him, surprised. "I'm interested... in human mind," he replied.

The man nodded; apparently, he liked that answer. "Do you like talking with people?" he asked another question, "or, rather, you're the type of a scholar, enjoying to stay with the books the most?"

Josh slowly shook his head. "No, the latter certainly not," he replied. "I think I like talking with people," he added hesitantly.

"Then, do you like helping people?"

Josh shrunk. He remembered the last time he'd been helping... when he would do anything for Alain... and Alain had just disappeared... "I like... when it's important to me," he uttered, staring at his own hands on his lap.

The associate dean sighed. "I apologize, I was being importunate," he said. "I can tell you still don't feel well. It was impolite on my part... And you are right: you've only completed the second year. I should have approached the problem more professionally, not-"

"Please," Josh spoke involuntarily. "Please, give me a moment to think about it," he said and was surprised himself.

The associate dean, who already started to put the documents back into the folder, froze. Josh tried to straighten up in the chair, but he still didn't dare to raise his eyes. There were so many thoughts in his head; he needed time to arrange them... understand them. After the initial shock, he no longer rejected the idea... His practice period. There was no chance for having it in Paris, not in the next two weeks... but he was being given an opportunity to leave Paris, and soon, maybe even tomorrow... He wouldn't need to stay here, all alone, with nothing to do - but all too many things to _think_ of. He was being offered some occupation, far from here, probably tiring and exhausting... Well, he actually didn't feel strong enough for that, but, on the other hand, it would help him get away from his own problems, from his own sorrow and despair... He could focus on something else, turn his attention to other things... The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

Only... a psychiatric hospital? Not that he hadn't had no experience with psychiatric hospitals... and he had even met three psychiatrists so far. Yet... Go to some unfamiliar place? Meet some people he knew nothing about? Well, the ward in Saint-Maurice Hospital had made a very good impression on him, but a hospital in the centre... um, in the outskirts of Paris was one thing, and a facility somewhere in the province, where no-one even wanted to work, was quite another. In his mind's eye, Josh saw a cursed place where the patients - lunatics! - mooned around like ghosts in a deserted castle, and the nights were filled with screams and groans.

Oh, he probably started to feel better since he was able to use his imaginary like that.

"Please, Sir, tell me more... What would they expect from m- What would they expect from a student?" he asked in a trembling voice; his heart was racing, and his breath was also too quick.

The associate dean placed his arms on the desk and clasped the hands; it was all Josh could see, for he still had no courage to look the man in the face. "They want someone to talk with the patients and observe their condition," the professor explained. "Of course, they wouldn't require nursing or medical duties. Or a work of psychologist, for that matter. The main idea is that the patients wouldn't be left alone, while now it's unfortunately the case, and a deplorable one."

Josh nodded. He remembered care that the patients had been given on the ward that Alain had been admitted to.

"You probably realize," the associate dean continued, "that the psychiatric patients need medication, but also contact and support. While staying on a psychiatric ward they feel twice as lonely. Treatment is faster if a patient, in addition to pharmacotherapy, is given also psychological aid, which, in this case, means simply a possibility to talk to or just be with another person. If the personnel is busy, this proves impossible."

Josh nodded again. He wondered whether Alain would have recovered so quickly if he hadn't visited him every day... But such thinking was unneeded now, especially that Alain hadn't cared about that treatment at all. He hadn't cared about Josh at all. No, he shouldn't dwell on it.

"I see... Then it's mostly about talking?" he made sure, focusing on the present. Talking... It didn't seem so bad, and he thought he would be able to do it. On the other hand, he was just a student... He became doubtful again. "Do you think I will manage, Sir?" he asked.

"I think you will manage," the professor replied calmly, and there was a hint of smile to his words. "You're interested in psychopathology, aren't you?"

Josh shook his head rather vaguely. "I only know a bit about psychosis," he confessed.

"Please, tell me what you know about psychosis," the associate dean asked in a friendly manner.

Josh's fingers clutched on the fabric of his trousers, as he started to rehearse what he'd learned from the book and Dr Sellier: about the mechanisms, typical symptoms, and treatment of psychosis. Of course, it was pretty abridged and put forward simply as he understood it... He didn't know why he was being asked that, and what was the point in giving an answer, but since it happened, he could as well do it...

And he did for a longer while. When he finished, a sigh came from the dean. "In regard to that topic... you know much more than the average third-year student on my exam," the man stated with some sadness.

Now Josh's head snapped up as looked at the professor in astonishment - the first sharp feeling this day that was no negative.

"Do you know as much about other topics of psychopathology, too?" the man asked, giving him a kind look.

Josh shook his head. "Just a bit about depression..."

"You've just said you knew 'just a bit' about psychosis," the professor pointed out. "In any case, I think that, knowing 'just a bit' about psychosis and depression, you're a perfect candidate for this task, if it can encourage you. You probably know that mood disorders is the most common psychiatric ailment, while psychosis is the most serious cause of psychiatric hospitalization. Besides... Please, remember that you are not going there to perform treatment..." he reminded. "At least not as a doctor, for I suppose your presence there and your work _will_ help many people."

"I..." Josh started and stopped. What actually did he want to say?

The professor observed him calmly. "Mr Or, will you accept this offer?" he asked after a moment.

"Can I resign if... if I don't manage?" Josh uttered.

"I don't think it to be the case... but of course you can."

Josh breathed a sigh of relief. No mater what the professor might say, he didn't trust his abilities, especially today... But he had no choice. Besides... it was only a practice. He had to do it; the place didn't matter. He nodded, although his heart was still beating fast - in apprehension, or maybe with excitement...?

The associate dean straightened up in his chair. "In that case, I'm going to call Eugene right away and inform him that he's got his man," he announced. "Of course, the hospital covers all travel and lodging expenses; I forgot to mention it," he added. "When could you depart?"

Josh mused. "The day after tomorrow, at the very latest. Maybe even tomorrow afternoon..." he replied.

"Do you have a phone? Any contact number?"

Josh shook his head.

"Then, could you come here in the morning?" the dean suggested. "How about leaving tomorrow in the early afternoon?"

"It's fine," Josh affirmed. It wasn't even three; he still had time to take care of some business... two, exactly. And if he didn't manage today, he would still have tomorrow morning to spare. It was better to leave as soon as possible; that was what he'd wanted.

The professor regarded him with his dark grey eyes and seemed to hesitate about something. "I hope I didn't put to much pressure on you?" he asked in the end.

Josh knitted his brows and shook his head. "No. I think it will do me some good," he replied and realized it was true.

Now it was the associate dean who frowned. "You think that stay in a psychiatric hospital will do you some good?" he asked with a mixture of uncertainty and irony.

Josh looked him in the eye. "Yes," he said and took a deep breath. "Exactly like that. I'm dealing with some... personal problems. Changing the place will be a good thing," he added honestly. "And hospital will help me to divert my thought from those difficulties. But don't worry, Sir," he rushed to supply when the idea occurred to him. "It won't affect my... duties."

The professor nodded slowly, still looking at him intently. "If that's what you say... You could visit your homeland, too; I'm sure it would comfort you."

"Right, Sir, you've mentioned that the facility was not far from the border of Esperanto...?" Josh suggested, set on not saying more about his problems.

"Yes. It's a truly lovely area. If I remember correctly, the inhabitants of several towns and villages demanded that the hospital weren't built in their neighbourhood, only the next one... until the plans had reached the border. There was no place left, and they were forced to build there. But it may be just a legend," the dean shrugged slightly. "That hospital has been functioning for a very long time... since 19th century..."

Josh tried to imagine that place... amongst the meadows and fields, like those of his homeland. His chest filled with longing, and it was already second feeling today that was not negative. "Is it really possible to travel to Esperanto from there?" Maybe he could visit Idealo...? Not that there was anything for him there, but he could see Erwin and Cecile... return like a prodigal sun... No, this thought made him feel uncomfortable. It would be exactly the same as last year...

"But of course. The hospital itself is situated some distance from the railway, but it's not a problem to get to the station. And you're going to have your weekends free."

Josh nodded somewhat distractedly as another thing struck him. "What if... What if they've already found someone for that place, Sir?" he asked.

"I don't think you should worry about it," the dean shook his head. "They've been looking for weeks. Why should someone turn up right now?"

"Because things like that happen all the time," Josh replied in a soft voice. He realized he'd already got used to the thought about spending the nearest weeks outside Paris, somewhere in the province, far from noise of the city... And even though he'd been very sceptic about it only half an hour ago, now he felt he would be disappointed if the plan was spoiled.

"You want to go there so much?" the associate dean asked, clearly holding back his smile. "Just a moment ago you were pretty reluctant about it," he pointed out.

"I want," Josh replied and knew he was speaking the truth.

The professor observed him for a while, thoughtful, but now Josh could withhold his gaze. Finally, he stopped feeling like a crumpled piece of fabric that someone had trampled upon and then kicked into the corner. His problems hadn't gone anywhere, yet he was under the impression that the load on his shoulders and chest eased a little. There was no need to hesitate. Once, he had been able to instantly make the decisions; maybe there was something of that old Josh still left in him.

"If suddenly they got two helpers, I'm pretty sure they would consider it a godsend," the dean stated. "I see no objection to your going there. You have to do that practice somewhere, don't you?" he added in a matter-of-factly.

Josh nodded.

"And, if you're interested in clinical psychology," the professor went on, "you'll have a great opportunity to see yourself what kind of work it is... whether it is your cup of tea or you would rather engage yourself in another activity. Please, use that possibility to the fullest."

"Thank you," Josh replied, finally trusting his voice. "In that case, I'm going to be here tomorrow at eight o'clock," he added and rose. "Thank you very much for your help, Sir," he said, stretching his arm.

"It is I who should thank," the professor shook his hand. "As Eugene's friend I'm very grateful. And he is going to be even more."

Josh nodded sharply and left.

As he walked to the metro station, he realized it was not the associate dean's positive attitude towards his problem that he'd thanked for. Well, of course, that too, but the most Josh was grateful for having his sense of purpose restored. He needed to always have some goal in life; no matter where he was and what he did, he needed to aim at something... especially in difficult times. Feeling that he didn't know where to turn, what direction to head in... was destructive to him. When he had his aim he could focus on, then everything was easier. Maybe he considered self-pity a completely unproductive thing? Or maybe, when he did nothing, he felt he was even worse person than usual? Or maybe it was just about having his life in his own hands and shaping it himself - instead of sitting on his bum and staring blankly ahead? He had only one life. Even if sometimes, like now, it seemed utterly pointless... he couldn't resist the impression that sitting down and doing nothing was even less sensible. Now he'd been given something to concentrate on - and move the problems aside. Just as he'd told the dean.

So, he would go south... and maybe manage to even visit his homeland... He mused. Homeland...? What did it mean, exactly? Idealo? Yes, probably. A train arrived, so he focused on getting on; however, as he was going through the dark tunnel, he had that vision again - of open fields and meadows that he could hardly see in Idealo...

He noticed that, if he changed on the next station, he could visit Mrs Bonnet in hospital. If he were to leave, he should do it today. And maybe Mrs Bonnet... could tell him more about last Friday - although, in fact, he stopped believing that. Still, he had to see her... unless the worst hadn't come to pass. He gasped, realizing how serious her condition had been the last time he'd seen her. What if...? He spent the rest of his journey with his throat clenched from anxiety and another spell of remorse. He hadn't spared her a single thought - a person who'd been kind to him more than anyone. He'd clung to his own misery and hadn't moved an inch from his sorrow... Yes, it was high time to leave that cocoon of self-pity. If Mrs Bonnet... If he couldn't meet her again, he would never forgive himself for that.

To his great relief, Mrs Bonnet was alive, and it seemed her condition was improving. This time there was no-one by her side, so he didn't hesitate only entered and quietly sat down on a chair. She was sleeping peacefully, without that painful expression he'd seen the previous time. He noticed her face had some colour; she was no longer being given any drip, although there was still a monitor checking on her vital functions. He sat like that by her bed, wondering whether he should wake her up - but then she opened her eyes, as if she'd sensed his presence... and, upon seeing him, smiled.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Bonnet," he said warmly.

"Good afternoon, dear," she replied with a slur, stretching her hand that he quickly took. "I'm glad to see you," she added.

"I'm glad to see you, too, Mrs Bonnet," he uttered, his throat clenching with emotion.

Although she seemed better, she still looked very weak and fragile. Looking at her, he realized he couldn't question her about matters that probably no longer were of any importance anyway... especially that he still blamed himself for her illness.

"How are you?" she asked in a perfectly normal way, as if she hadn't been bedridden with a serious disease... as if they'd just met on a staircase like good neighbours...

He thought he wished he were as strong, too... so tough and buoyant, to be able to go through every difficulty. "I had my final exams of second year recently, and I passed," he replied calmly. "Tomorrow, I'm leaving Paris to have a practice in a hospital."

"My, hospitals everywhere... I already have enough of them," she said. "Then you're leaving... With Mr Alain?" she asked, giving him another smile; it seemed a bit crooked.

Josh froze.

"How is he doing?" the older woman inquired.

He gulped, frantically wondering what he should say. "He was unwell, but now it's all right..." he choked in the end.

"Ah, right, he had pneumonia... Or was it anything new?" she asked anxiously. "You see, dear, the doctors told me I suffered memory loss because of that stroke," she explained quite placidly. "The last thing I remember was Easter... and now it's mid-May already."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs Bonnet," Josh whispered, comprehending what she meant. "But... actually... nothing special happened during that time," he added, although many emotions welled up in him, among them relief and disappointment. He didn't want to think about it and instead asked, "When are you going to be discharged?"

"Ah, dear, I have no idea," she shook her head lightly. "I'd love to go home as soon as possible, but the doctor say it's going to last a longer while this time. You see, I can't really use my left hand or leg. I'll need some rehabilitation..."

"In that case, you shouldn't rush things. You're in a good care here. They're going to tend to your needs... and get you back on your feet," he stressed, squeezing her hand.

"But my flowers in boxes... They'll wither in this heat."

"You shouldn't worry about the flowers," he said with emphasis. "Your family can tend to them, can't they? It's enough that someone go to your place once per day... You have a wonderful family, Mrs Bonnet," he added involuntarily. "We've just met, though," he qualified.

He thought her eyes flashed. "Have you met Anne? And Fleur?" she asked enthusiastically... if an older lady lying on a hospital bed after a stroke could be enthusiastic, in the first place. "Then, what do you think about them?"

"Mrs Bonnet, I don't think I'm a right person to be asked such things," he noticed, although he really felt like smiling.

"Now don't say that. Fleur is splendid, isn't she?"

Josh recalled the girl's face, shining with its own light despite sadness. Feeling of resentment he'd experienced last Friday, had disappeared, leaving impression of having met something unusual, almost perfect. Yes, in her own way, Fleur was splendid. Just like Georges Saphir.

"They are very fond of you," he said, although it was really no answer.

Mrs Bonnet smiled and stared at the ceiling. "My lovely girls," she uttered, clearly moved.

They sat in silence. Josh realized he didn't feel like leaving here - there was something calming in this situation, despite its tragedy... some warmth that made him feel better - but time was merciless. He put the woman's arm back on the bed. "I must go, Mrs Bonnet," he said reluctantly. "I have to pack my things... Please, recover. Once I'm back in Paris, I'd like to see you healthy," he stressed.

"Have a pleasant journey," she replied warmly, looking at him again, but her eyes were already tired. "Give my regards to Mr Alain."

He nodded and got up, unable to say any parting words. In the doorway, he turned to look at her once more. She was lying with her eyes closed; she probably was still very weak. He felt guilty for having bothered her... but, at the same time, he didn't regret having come here, not at all. He left, thinking there was at least one person who cared for him, in her own way, and he needed it more than ever.

When he took to packing his bag, he realized he hadn't asked the associate dean how long he was going to stay in... Damn it, he hadn't even inquired about the name of the place. On the other hand, it was even more interesting this way: he went into the unknown, having no idea how long he would spend there; one might say it was romantic, ha ha... Well, at least one month, the length of his practice... He thought, however, that if he liked it there... and if they liked him... he might as well stay there the whole summer. What was for him in Paris, anyway? And now he could at least help someone... do something useful.

He froze when the thought about how this summer _should have_ been like, struck him. He pressed his lips and resumed rolling up his shirt to tuck it into the bag with other things. Fortunately, he didn't have much clothes, and he could surely wash them during his stay.

The bag was packed in one hour, so he got to the other business he had to tend to before his departure. He looked through the papers and found the address of their landlady. It wasn't even six yet; not too late for a visit. She lived in the neighbouring district... Sure, he could call her, but the very thought filled him with reluctance... He didn't want to talk on the public phone. He hoped he'd find her home...

Fortunately, Mrs Dufour was present. She was a short, middle-aged woman, although Josh rather thought, 'ageing'.' He red hair was more or less pinned up, and she had quite sloppy make-up. She seemed to enjoy her life... had probably just returned from the balcony where she must have been relishing blessing of spring: she wore a thin peignoir that didn't hide her curves, was flushed and somewhat slothful. She stared at him quite confused.

"I'm Joshua Or," he said. "I live with... with Alain Corail in your flat by rue Keller. It is Alain who completed all formalities with you... but you and me did meet, once," he added, looking at her round face and heavily done-up eyes. "When we came to see the flat."

The woman nodded, although she still appeared to not remember him. Well, she wasn't only one, for Josh had only a vague memory of her, too.

"Has anything happened in the flat?" she asked in a high-pitched voice.

"No, no, nothing of that kind," Josh reassured her. "It's just... Madame, can I come inside?" He didn't feel like talking on a staircase.

The woman stood undecided for a moment, but then she nodded again and let him into quite gaudily decorated hall. Apparently, she didn't plan on invite him more than that, for she didn't even show him any place to sit down nor sat herself. "What is it about, Mister?" she asked.

Now that he was here, Josh didn't know how to say it. Nevertheless, he didn't plan on spending his evening here, so he had to gather his thoughts, even though Mrs Dufour didn't seem very friendly towards him and was clearly considering him a nuisance.

"Alain... pays you the rent, right?" he uttered in the end.

"That's correct," the woman replied, giving him that distrustful look of her.

Josh suppressed a sigh. "Well, there's some problem... You see, Madame, Alain had to suddenly leave and I have no idea whether he paid the rent for May and... And I don't know whether he'll pay in June, either," he added in a lower voice, preparing for her anger. "And I have to leave Paris tomorrow, too, at least for one month, so... Could you... Madame, can we keep the flat... even if we pay the rent later?" he whispered and came to the conclusion he sounded idiotic.

Especially that the woman was staring at him confused with her slightly bulging eyes. She didn't get angry; rather, she seemed to not understand at all what he was talking about. Well, to tell the truth, his explanation _was_ quite murky...

"Mr Corail always pays on time," she replied somewhat loftily. "This month as well. Don't forget the period of notice," she added out of the blue, "which is-"

"Odille...?" an impatient male voice came from inside the flat. "Are you coming with that beer...?"

The woman blinked and smiled lumpishly, her eyes involuntarily shooting backwards... and then, regardless of his faint objection, pushed Josh towards the front door, apparently considering their conversation finished.

"Please, forgive me, I'm busy," she said, and Josh noticed her tone had changed; now she sounded almost apologetic, "so I can't talk with you longer, Mister. As for the rent... Don't worry about it. You give me no trouble. You may live there as long as you want. You can pay later. Good bye!"

The door was slammed behind astonished Josh, who turned around and stared at the dark wood in disbelief. It took him a while to regain his calm; he shook his head and started to descend the stairs. Really, what had he come here for...? He realized, however, he'd managed to have the matter done, and even better he'd expected.

'You may live there as long as you want.'

He pressed his lips into a thin line, deciding not to think about it. Instead, he focused on knowledge he could leave Paris with a lighter load on his shoulders. He still was himself, since that sense of responsibility of his hadn't gone anywhere - and he was glad about it.

* * *

 _The city is full of memories - Tehosekoitin, "Pakko päästä pois"_


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**  
 _ **(miłości potrzebna jest wolność)**_

* * *

The train was clacking lullingly. Josh would gladly give in to its melody, yet he had slept well enough last night and wasn't drowsy at all, so he just had to spend the journey awake. The scenery behind the window kept changing: from city to province, from lowland to hills, from fields and meadows to forest... Josh had been travelling for hours already, yet he sill had a long distance to cover. At some point, he was to change trains and, in the end, to get from the station to the hospital; the associate dean had said that the facility was situated a bit farther from the railway...

His thoughts, like many times so far, went to the aim of his journey. The town was called Sainte-Jeanne, as was the place of Josh's practice period; that was what he'd learned from the dean this morning. He'd been given a ticket, along with the promise he would be picked up from the station and delivered appropriately. Now that he was going through the country, many emotions were filling him. First, anxiety: he was heading for a completely new place, about to meet new people - and he was awaited and expected there. The thought itself wasn't unpleasant - it was a nice thing to know that one's presence was desired - but, simultaneously, made him nervous whether he would be able to meet those expectations. Wouldn't they feel disappointed with him? Wouldn't they find him unfit? On one hand, he knew he would do anything to satisfy them; on the other hand, he asked himself what a student could really do. Especially a student who had barely completed the second year and was so scatterbrained that he needed to turn to an associate dean in every matter... (At this, he was being absolutely unfair towards himself.) He must have been crazy to accept that offer; they would surely send him back home as soon as tomorrow...

However, some other part of him was very enthusiastic, as if he was going on a great adventure that could please him a lot. A practice in a provincial psychiatric hospital wasn't something that happened to an average person. No, certainly not. How could it be in such a hospital? The dean had said that the facility had been established in 19th century and was beautifully situated. Taking into consideration that Saint-Maurice Hospital resembled more a palace than a medical centre, Josh guessed at something else than a boxy modern building - but he really had no idea what. He needed to wait a few more hours and see with his own eyes; his imagination couldn't help him.

He rested the forehead against the window frame and stared at the scenery. This morning, the associate dean had appeared to be very pleased. Josh thought that maybe his chances to graduate had increased since he'd won the professor's favour. Of course, such thinking didn't do him much credit; he wanted to obtain university degree with his own effort, not due to sympathy of the authorities... yet he knew that one's own effort sometimes just wasn't enough, so it was a good thing to have some 'security'... No, it didn't sound good, either. Anyway, the associate dean seemed to be a nice person who cared about the students, and it was something Josh had been missing for last two years. Despite having completed the second year already, he still hadn't got used to that cold atmosphere of the university. Sure, he'd always considered himself an individualist who could perfectly manage on his own, yet he also liked to feel there was someone who cared about him. In Saint Grollo...

Ah, Saint Grollo! It was such a wonderful place, and in many aspects, too. He'd once heard the Grand Duke Argent's words that the man had said on some closed meeting and that, of course, had leaked to the public, 'In this outwardly strict and authoritarian school, the headmaster has created an environment that makes the place fun'. It was true. Maybe the teachers was demanding, and maybe the rules were rigid, yet a student had always been the most important and no-one would be left alone. That school was simply... fun, with no harm done. Well, the university did no harm either, but it only resulted from the complete lack of interest in students who were considered the adults and self-reliant. Maybe that fact that Josh still felt so nostalgic about his high school and was so reluctant towards his university, proved his immaturity. He really couldn't quite fancy himself stop missing Saint Grollo.

However, the Associate Dean Villeneuve (this morning, Josh had finally had a look at the nameplate next to the door of his office) seemed to be a man who did care. It made Josh think a bit more warmly about his school; now he could imagine spending three more years there... even if the thought of staying in Paris filled him with conflicting feelings. Yes, continuing his studies was the right way; just as it one had given some reason to his life, substitute as it was, it could support him now, too. Ah, he should have mentioned to the professor that he would need a room in the dormitory starting this autumn; if he was correct, it belonged to an associate dean's scope of duties... Well, he could do this after coming back.

However, listening to the clatter of the wheels, Josh thought he knew why he hadn't done it, even if it seemed a madness. Today, for the first time in many days, he'd waked up in a good mood. Well, maybe 'good' was too much; nevertheless, he was feeling lighter at heart, and that sorrow, recently overshadowing all his actions and thoughts, was gone. It was as if someone had told him, 'It will be fine," and calmed him down. Yes, it was the right description: calmed down. Josh felt calm, not apathy. He felt hope, not despair. He felt that he had life ahead of him and something good would still happen to him, not that everything had already ended.

He couldn't explain that impression. Maybe he'd seen some dream that had restored his self-assurance; he couldn't remember. Well, it was quite possible that his mind, with its experience of twenty years of life, of both good and bad things - and, recently, of several months of psychotherapy - had activated proper mechanisms and was seeking for a solution. It was helping Josh to react in a different - more beneficial and productive - way than before. Maybe he had managed to mature a bit, after all? To develop as a human...? It wasn't a bad idea.

Josh wondered what that could mean. That after four days in despair he had accepted Alain's leaving, decided to forget the man and tried to arrange his life without him? No, certainly not. He might be the most wretched being in the world, yet he was absolutely sure his feelings were much deeper than that. They weren't something that would disappear in just a few days. He still didn't want anything more than Alain coming here and taking him in his arms - and that desire was so strong it made him breathless. To tell the truth, he even thought that it would be more _adequate_ to sit and despair, and long, and think only of Alain, withdraw into pain and simply suffer - but he already realized it was that malfunctioning part of him; that part he had once called romantic yet now could regard in a critical manner and consider defective. Now he could control it, could resist it, knowing that, had he given up, it wouldn't bring about anything good.

Or maybe, quite the opposite, he had believed that Alain would come back - even if there was no basis for doing so? Maybe he'd gained some irrational, unfounded hope it would just happen - and now was sticking to it without doubt? In that case, he suffered from psychosis himself, unable to tell the fantasy from reality. Right, he _deluded_ it; that was a proper word. Still, he didn't consider it to be the case. He still couldn't think of what had happened without that pang in his chest. He still felt he'd been wronged more than anyone in the world and would give anything to make it unhappen. He knew... he was aware that Alain had left him. Denying the facts was pointless. Alain had left - for some reason.

And for some purpose.

It didn't mean, though, that he'd left for good and Josh would never see him again. Maybe that was the most important conclusion resulting from his current mood - or the reason behind it. That time, last Friday, he had reacted hysterically, immediately sinking into the abyss of the worst possibility - the one he'd always feared. Sure, he had all the right to do so... yet now, on Wednesday of the next week, he could regard the matter in a different way. They had experienced too much during last four years so that he could pass such judgement. Their relation had been built on mutual love, but also on hurting each other. There had been both good and bad times. There had been both partings and reunions. There had been moments they would act in a irresponsible and very immature manner. Now Josh thought that unconditional belief in promises like 'I'll always be with you' had been a mistake on his part - even though it sounded terrible, for he would rather not think anything in his relationship with Alain to be a mistake. Well, it was a mistake in that it prevented him from seeing Alain in a broader way. Maybe he needed another abandonment... no, another parting - he didn't believe Alain had _intended_ to abandon him, not consciously - to finally see him in a better - more clear - light? Sure, love was blind - and so he had fallen a victim to that blindness - but now it was high time to stop it. How many times had he said that he'd accepted Alain with all aspects of his personality...? Well, it was probably true, but did it mean he had _comprehended_ all those aspects? That he'd been aware of them? Now he doubted it. It was more probable that he'd preferred to know only what had appealed to him; it would fit his character the best.

While it was quite likely that Alain just couldn't help his urge to run away. 'He runs away whenever something's not to his liking," Mrs Corail had said. Josh should have learned by now that every person had a specific conduct they often couldn't help, couldn't influence. That modifying one's patterns of behaving or reacting was a hard work that could take many years, and with no guarantee of success. It had been a complete naivety on Josh's part to believe that promise of Alain - only because he had wanted to believe. Not that he planned to reproach himself for it; doing so would be pointless now, and he wanted to be tolerant for himself. However, he was glad for finally having understood that, for it gave him a possibility to grow up, provided a direction for him to take in order to work on himself. If he wanted to be with Alain, he had to accept that he wouldn't have him all the time. That their relationship would possibly look that way: Alain disappearing and then returning again. And, honestly, it seemed that Alain, too, had grown up a bit: this time he had left him a message, after all.

All that reflection was certainly constructive - terribly constructive - but at some point Josh realized tears had been rolling down his cheeks for a longer while, which made a woman occupying the opposite seat regard him with obvious disapproval. He wiped his eyes with his hand and resumed staring at the scenery outside the window, although he still couldn't see a thing. He would have to be made of stone in order to, less then one week after parting, be able to emotionlessly analyse how he felt towards Alain. Apart from that, it was not at all certain that Alain would really return. Josh felt a sudden urge to find him and explain the situation; however, now it was too late: he was sitting in the train taking him to Sainte-Jeanne, where he would spent at least one month. He had committed himself to it; even if not so long ago he would have not bothered with any obligations whenever it was love at stake, now he felt he couldn't do so. Besides... where should he look for? He had no idea where Alain might go, not in the slightest.

Still, he regretted not having left any message, in case Alain reappeared on rue Keller. Well, he wouldn't do anything about it now; he could, at the most, send a letter from the hospital, once he arrived there. He found it somewhat strange: to send a letter to the empty flat, but it was no time to think about what was strange. However, he suspected that Alain wouldn't be back so soon... although, at the same time, he hoped it wouldn't last three years, like previously. No, he couldn't think like that, otherwise he would start to cry again.

He got off on the station he was expected to change, and walked to the other platform to wait for the next train. He bought himself something to drink, for the weather was beautiful - that was, hot. Sitting on the bench and staring at the neat station building, he realized it was only second time that he travelled outside Paris in last year. In February, they'd been in the Alps, but apart from that they would stay in the city. Well, now Josh had an opportunity to do some sightseeing... No, it sounded awful, just as if he were looking for bright sides of current situation... On the other hand, maybe that was exactly what he should do: try to find some plus points, instead of focusing on negatives. They used to say, 'Travels broadened the mind,' and his journey was going to be very educative - although he still didn't know about it.

The train pulled in, and Josh found his seat. Soon, they were moving again, always due south. He took out a book and immersed in reading - he had yet to finish _Introduction to Psychopathology_ , and besides he would certainly need to know more stuff than just psychoses - but he would look out every now and then. At first, it was mountainous, but then the land started to decline and widen. They would go through plains, pass fields, meadows and lakes bathed in the sunlight of May. This train made more stops; people got on and off on the smaller stations, until it was his turn when the conductor announced Sainte-Jeanne. Josh took his bag from the overhead luggage rack and moved to the exit. Soon, along with a few other passengers, he found himself on the platform, squinting in the light of late afternoon. Despite the time of day, it was really hot here, much more than in Paris, so putting anything else on was pointless; he was sweating all over in the shirt only.

Other people had scattered in various direction, but he was still standing there pretty confused. He was supposed to be received by someone... He looked around, but the platform was empty, with no-one fitting that role. He put the bag on the bench, wondering what to do. There were two options: either wait or try to organize himself a transport to the hospital. It couldn't be far... He grabbed his luggage again, ready to ask around the station; then, however, a young man ran onto the platform, waving at him from the distance.

"Joshua Or? From Paris?" the man called quite directly yet cheerfully before standing next to him. Josh nodded, not showing he was surprised to be greeted that way... while he shouldn't have. "I'm sorry, I'm late. You haven't been waiting long?" the man seemed anxious.

"No, I've only arrived," Josh replied truthfully, although there was no trace of the train any more.

"I won't make any excuses; I left to late," the man confessed. Josh assessed his age between twenty-five and thirty years. "I'm Etienne Morel, a nurse in Sainte-Jeanne," he added, stretching his hand.

Josh shook hands with him. "Joshua Or... a student," he said and tried to smile. It wasn't hard since Etienne made a nice impression on him. Then, however, he remembered he shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Not so long ago he'd met another young man who'd seemed to be nice, yet it'd ended in a dramatic way.

"That's all you have?" Etienne asked, looking at his bag and, when Josh confirmed, pointed backwards. "I have a car. Shall we go? All right then."

AS they waked towards a dusty, blue pick-up, Josh had a look at his companion. Etienne was quite tall, but not too tall, and quite slender, but not too slender. He had light-brown hair and eyes of a similar colour. Actually, he seemed a perfectly average person, at least outwardly, for Josh had no idea about his character. It quickly appeared that at least in the meaning of talkativeness Etienne is anything but average.

"Whenever I work on a night-shift, like this week, I have a problem with organizing my days," he said as they were already riding. "Actually, I only got up an hour ago," he added in an apologetic way.

Josh kept staring at the small houses in a city that seemed quite small itself. "It's all right, don't worry about that," he said distractedly. "The hospital is situated a bit from here, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes, nearly ten kilometres from the town. You know, long ago they used to build such institutes out of the way, to provide the patients the best conditions... and, in reality, to make them not bother other people. The result is that no-one wants to work here," Etienne stated mockingly. "You've heard we have some personnel issues... Well, of course, you have; that's why you're here," he added not very tactfully, but Josh didn't hold it against him.

"I wonder what a student like me can help," he said involuntarily.

"And what do you know about this work?" came quite direct question.

Josh glanced at him and, in the end, said nothing. At that point, it seemed to him he knew absolutely nothing. That was bad; he shouldn't think like this right at the beginning. Besides, the associate dean had said, only this morning, that everything would be fine... However, the associate dean was some hundreds kilometres from here, in civilised Paris, while Josh was all alone here, in the wild province...

He shook his head. "Well, I'll manage somehow," he said energetically. "And I hope to be of some use to you."

"That's some good attitude," Etienne praised him, turning into another road that soon took them outside the town and amongst the fields and farms. As far as Josh could tell, they were heading east. "To tell the truth, I don't know the details of your coming here myself... How long are you going to be here?"

"As for that, our knowledge is similar," Josh replied with a smile. "At least one month... but it's not yet settled."

"One month is little," the man seemed troubled. "You will only learn how the hospital works, nothing more. And it won't solve out problems... But it's not something for you to worry about. It's the management to do something about it. Soon, there will be no-one to work here."

"How long has it been like that?" Josh asked shyly.

"Not too long... Well, I'm not sure," Etienne replied with a shrug. "Maybe the field is no longer interesting... Mental health care has been evolving quite much recently... Maybe the current state isn't appealing to people, I don't know... Or maybe it's only that hardly anyone wants to work in such a remote place. People go to the big cities. Our old workers retire, and there are no new to fill the void. You might've heard that one ward had to be shut, for there was no staff enough to run it...? But it's only a temporary solution; soon the situation will worsen again... Besides, it can be that we, the personnel, are at fault, too. We should've raised the alarm long ago... made the management realize that the disaster would occur if nothing were done... We didn't, and now it's too late..."

They talked about that for a while... actually, Josh listened to Etienne's comments. In a proper moment - his driver fell silent as they approached the crossroads - he threw in, "Then, we're heading for the hospital now, aren't we? I suppose it's a whole... complex? Is it where I'm going to stay?"

"Ah, complex. It's a right word," Etienne approved it. "Yes, the personnel quarters are situated there. Of course, many people live in the town, some even live outside Sainte-Jeanne and commute... Admirable verve, isn't it? Well, staying in the quarters is a good solution for those who want to save money. Sure, we pay the water and energy bill, but that's all... and the salary is pretty good, too. The bigger problem is spending that money, for we hardly get any holiday, with the situation like this," he added mockingly.

Josh thought it would be a good occasion to get used to live in such kind of lodging before returning to the dorms. But he didn't feel like thinking about it now and instead asked, "What about the hospital itself? It's quite big, isn't it?"

"Yes, it has about thirty buildings..." Josh stared at him in disbelief. "I mean, most of them are not in use," Etienne rushed to explain. "It was built over hundred years ago, and the standards were different then. You'll see it yourself... At present, we use only the main building; all three wards are situated in it. The wards for mood disorders were in the separate pavilion, but it's closed now."

"You've said only one ward was shut...?" Josh noticed. "Then... what about the patients with depression... Where do you treat them now?"

Etienne cast a quick glance at him before looking at the road again. "Well, in that case, I must explain the organization of the hospital to you... You'll be pretty confused, but so be it," he said. "Normally, for many years now, we've had four wards: two for psychoses and two for mood disorders, one acute and one long-term for each diagnosis. Now, that an emergency reorganisation was needed, they did some changes to the profiles of the wards. The long-term for psychoses and long-term for mood disorders were left intact, but the other two were united, creating simply an acute ward that takes all new patients regardless of the diagnosis. Physically, it functions in the space of acute psychoses ward, in the main building, so don't be surprise if you hear people calling it 'Psychoses 1', out of habit... As for the long-term mood disorders, it would be uneconomic to leave only one ward in the separate pavilion, so it was also moved into the main building, on empty floor where long ago some other ward used to be situated. Isn't it too confusing?"

"Nah..." Josh replied, thoughtful. Actually, it sounded quite modern to him; in Saint-Maurice, patients were also allocated by their diagnosis, so maybe Sainte-Jeanne hospital wasn't as provincial he'd imagined...? "I still follow. But isn't it a problem: to treat all those patients together? I mean, psychotic and depressed patients...? Those are completely different diseases..."

"I guess no... At least, they've been no troubles so far," Etienne replied. "I heard that there are 'general psychiatric wards' in many hospitals, where no-one's bothered by a patient's diagnosis. They must have quite a pother there... yet they manage, don't they? Ah, we're here."

For some time now, they had been riding an alley lined with great trees; it ended with a splendid stone gate - or disappeared inside it. 'Sainte-Jeanne Hospital' was carved in a stone with elegant letters. To the side hung several plates that seemed newer and more official, although Josh didn't manage to have a better look on them. The gate was situated in a wall surrounding a huge park; building could be seen in the distance. Etienne hadn't exaggerated: it was an enormous area - and delighting. They followed the main road that had smaller turn-offs as well as walking paths with numerous benches. Once, the park must have been maintained on a regular basis; now it was overgrown with grass and wild flowers, but it impressed Josh nonetheless - maybe even more if there'd been well tended flower beds and perfectly trimmed lawns. Here and there in the greenness, he could spot sculptures, arbours, fountains, and other architectonic forms their meaning being obscure; all that contributed to the general atmosphere of this place. Josh was enchanted right away.

Etienne let him admire the scenery; he even slowed down, but it could as well be due to speed limit. "It was intended as a sanatorium for the upper class..." Josh heard his voice after a moment of silence. "Its main customers were ladies suffering from various ailments of spirit, who would come here to calm their nerves and regain their strength. Later, when the social structure started to change and the mental health care began to develop, the facility was reorganized into an asylum. As I said, most buildings have been long forsaken; it's unlikely that they will be used again. Sooner or later, all of that is going to fall into ruin and will have to be pull down..."

"Pity," Josh replied in a soft voice, looking at the pavilions; each of them seemed a separate work of art, despite the obvious signs of abandonment.

The windows were reflecting the sunlight, if it only managed to get through the thick layer of leaves. Josh looked up at the mighty trees that must have grown here for decades, probably longer, maybe from the very start, and saw birds moving in their crowns. He realized that this place was still alive, even though its glory was a matter of past.

"It's really beautiful here," he said.

"So it is..." Etienne agreed with him. "But now that beauty turns against us," he added somewhat bitterly. "There's no-one to take care of the vegetation. Never mind the neglected lawns... but if a tree rots, it may be dangerous. A specialist comes every now and then to inspect it... Well, it's the same thing with the buildings: they don't look like they're about to crumble, but everyone knows it's better to stay away from them, to say nothing about entering."

"Are the patients allowed to go outside?" Josh asked, thinking it would be a shame if they weren't. He was of the opinion that the very scenery could work as a healing factor here.

"Some, of course, are; it depends on one's condition. Unfortunately, there are many that can't be let out alone, and there's not enough nurses to keep them company, so they are forced to stay inside all the time."

"Can't they move around with their families?"

"Sure they can! The problem is that quite a few has any family, that's the sad truth of the psychiatry... It is common that the family stays home and enjoys the peace, after its problematic member was finally taken to hospital. It may sounds cruel, but such is the reality, you just have to accept that," Etienne said, and anger in his voice contrasted with resignation of his statement. "But some patients do have their important ones here. One of the buildings acts as a hotel for visitors. For a small fee, they can stay here during their relative's hospitalization. It's been possible for years now."

"That's good."

"Here is the main building," Etienne pointed at the multi-storey edifice of pale stone, that seemed to be situated in the very centre of the property; they'd been heading towards it from the beginning. It was probably the biggest building of the hospital, with two wings turning at a right angle from the central part; it could hold eight, maybe even ten wards, assuming that one ward occupied half of the floor. They rode past it, and the nurse showed another house, much smaller, "Here is administration; you'll find the offices of the director and head nurse here. You are to meet with the director tomorrow morning," he remembered.

Josh nodded. Etienne turned into another road between the trees, and soon they arrived at the long, three-storey building quite close to the outer wall of the hospital. "Here is where we live," the nurse said, pulling up near the front door. "I hope you don't mind such accommodation?" he asked, although it was rather too late.

"Not at all," Josh shook his head. "I used to live in a dormitory during my junior high and high school. And for the first year at the university."

"Well, I think the conditions are slightly better here," Etienne said as they were climbing the stairs. "Every room has a bathroom, so you'll have more privacy. Besides, I don't think you're going to meet many people here. First, many flats are empty; second, nursing staff works in two shifts, from seven 'till seven, and you're probably going to work from eight 'till four, so we're going to miss each other. Speaking of it..." he glanced at his watch in this quite dim corridor, "I have to leave. I'm going to only show you the room... I think it's this one... Yes, twenty five."

He opened the door and entered, and Josh followed. The flat consisted of one - quite big - room and a bathroom. It was modest, but clean and bright, and that was all Josh needed. Warm air was coming through the open window, but the room seemed to face north, so it wouldn't be too hot inside. He knew right away he would feel good here.

He put his bag on the bed and turned to Etienne. "Thanks," he said. "I don't want to hold you. I'll be fine."

The nurse nodded. "Don't forget about the meeting with the director at eight," he reminded. "You won't get lost, going on foot, right?"

"I won't," Josh replied; his sense of direction had always been good, and the way was simple.

"The key is in the lock," Etienne looked back distractedly. "Ah, right... Of course, I forgot the most important thing. We haven't done you any shopping... But don't worry. You'll find the kitchen in the corridor." He waved backwards. "We live on the same floor, with a few other people. Help yourself with anything you'll find in the fridge. You shouldn't stay hungry because of my forgetfulness. Tomorrow we'll go to the town and get some groceries," he promised. "Now I have to go. See you tomorrow! We'll run into each other somehow!" he called from the corridor, and then only his steps on the stairs could be heard.

Josh hadn't even managed to ask what the number of Etienne's room was... Well, as the nurse had said: they would run into each other _somehow_. He moved the key to the inner hole and shut the door, then approached the window and looked outside. Etienne's pick-up was heading back towards the main building, its throb ringing in the air for a while, but soon it faded into silence of early evening. Josh rested his elbows on a frame and stared at the scenery, realizing again it was an incredibly beautiful place. The area was bathed in a warm sunlight that was flickering on the leaves and being reflected in the distant window panes. The air was fresh, smelling of trees and flowers. The atmosphere of peace and safety was almost palpable.

Josh thought that every psychiatric hospital should look like this... and that he might be able to regain his balance here. Suddenly, he felt irrational urge to stay here and never go back to Paris, even though he didn't know a thing about this place... However, he was already aware that returning to reality might prove a difficult task. Yes, to reality - for now he was in some land that had nothing to do with the real world.

He shook his head and straightened up. Strange thoughts occurred to him... He'd come here to work and would begin tomorrow. He should prepare himself for that - unpack his luggage, take a bath, eat something... He was quite tired after a long travel, so he would go to bed early. He should better get enough sleep if he were to meet with the director as soon as eight... and probably start his duties right away since he'd been needed so desperately... He opened the bag in order to take out his clothes and froze again, looking around the room. It was really nice here, even though the furniture had obviously been used before. A table with two chairs, a wardrobe, and a chest of drawers. The white net curtains and quite old-fashioned dark curtains. A carpet on the floor. A fancy chandelier and a small bedside lamp witha shade. Probably many generations of hospital personnel had been living here... Yes, he would definitely enjoy staying here for the next month... or longer.

He resumed his occupation, but the opened window kept disturbing his focus. In the end, he sighed, left the half-unpacked bag on the bed and gave in to the temptation. Soon, he was walking amongst the great trees in the park, his heart filled with various emotions. He realized he was very touched, but didn't think of it; this one time he let himself only feel, not analyse. For the first time in a longer while, he felt simply good.

* * *

 _Love needs freedom - Maanam, "Miłość jest jak opium"_


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**  
 _ **(tärkeintä on, ettet sinä koveta sun sydäntä koskaan)**_

* * *

Josh waked up early, yet pretty brisk. Sunlight was coming inside the room, promising another fine day. He drew the curtains aside and opened the window. In the morning, the hospital park looked completely different than last evening, but its beauty was equally impressing. Josh prepared himself breakfast from Etienne's supply, that he'd slightly depleted yesterday, and ate quickly. It wasn't even seven, so he decided to go for a short walk.

Moving amongst the thick trunks and observing the play of sunlight, whenever it managed to get through the layer of leaves, Josh came to the conclusion that his rapture - as well as some unexplained, almost palpable, gratitude that he could be here - might result from that he'd lived the last two years in Paris. And while Paris could be a wonder of architecture, there wasn't really much of nature in it. Then again, Josh had spent in provinces all his childhood and later, for seven years, had lived in Saint Grollo, that was located in the enormous park, just like Sainte-Jeanne hospital. He _really_ liked Paris and enjoyed staying there - and, as long as he was with Alain, he didn't care about the place - but now he just couldn't remain immune to the fact that outside his windows were trees he could walk amongst for hours, and not another house with a tiny bit of sky, while the nearest patch of greenness was a square two hundred meters long and fifty metres wide.

His feet took him towards one of the deserted buildings, a two-storey pavilion with arched windows. What could have it served as? A ward? A medical office? Or maybe just an utility room, built and decorated like others, to match the general design? He tried to imagine the hospital just as it must have looked in the beginning of its functioning. Actually, it wasn't hard to believe that any moment a lady in a stylish dress would emerge from behind the tree to walk in the open and reflect on her distress... She would sit down on that bench there, maybe with a book that would help her to divert her attention from her concern... or maybe she would ask another patient to keep her company, in order to enjoy her presence and support. He had no idea how treatment might have looked like in 19th century, but he thought that, just like now, the most important was the contact with another person, a possibility to talk, to confide... He suspected that the troubles of most upper-class representatives' here had been more or less imagined, yet for themselves they would seem real and certainly distressing; it was a good thing they could have regain some peace here. Nevertheless, now the hospital served those who really needed it, and Josh thought it was right this way.

A bit farther, he saw a building that, to the contrary, he recognized immediately: it must have been a chapel. One could tell already from afar that it had been long abandoned. The windows lacked many panes, one of the door leaves had dislocated from the hinge and was now hanging tilted, and there were clusters of nettles growing all around. He tried to have a peek inside but managed to saw only ratty pews; it was quite a depressing sight, so he stepped back quickly. A glance at the watch told him he should already head back.

A quarter to eight, as he walked towards the administration building, it was already quite hot. The sky, as he could tell through the tree crowns, wasn't obscured by a single cloud. The park, however, didn't seem dry; quite the contrary, it appeared humid, although it could be that the ubiquitous greenness was creating such an illusion. Still, he hoped that it would rain soon, for he didn't wish to see this place sun baked.

He had no trouble finding the director's office and knocked on the door right at eight o'clock. He was answered by 'Enter!', so he walked inside, his heart beating fast. The wooden floor creaked under his feet; wood appeared to be the main material of the slightly old-fashioned room. Now, however, something else was striking here: the office was buried in papers and books, and amongst that chaos resided a slight man whose personality seemed to be described as 'a bunch of nerves'. 'Director would certainly benefit from stay in hospital himself. Or, rather, far from it,' Josh thought involuntarily, coming closer. Upon seeing him, the man jumped to his feet from the armchair and ran up to him, and Josh noticed that the suit was hanging on him as if it was too big; the director probably had spent many nights waking, and worry had made him skip some meals, too...

The man began to shake hands with him. "Mr Or, I'm so glad to see you...! I'm Eugene Girard, the director of Sainte-Jeanne Hospital. Please, sit down. I hope you forgive me this mess," he said, shifting some papers aside to make some place for him. "Please. Would you like some coffee?"

Josh sat down where some free space had appeared and looked at the man, who took the other chair. "Thank you, Sir, but I've just had breakfast."

Director was staring at him intensely and seemed ready to start up again if it could please Josh one way or another. On one hand, Josh found that flattering; on the other hand... he felt strange, being given such an attention. For a moment, he simply stared back, although he quickly decided there wasn't much to look at. Director Girard was a man at... well, yes, Associate Dean Villeneuve's age, only much shorter and slimmer, to say nothing of his slight baldness. Also, he was far from being as calm as his friend from Paris; quite the contrary, in his presence Josh felt even more nervous, especially under that scrutinizing look.

Finally, when silence became impossible to suffer, he began shyly, "Director, you wished to see me...?"

The man started, as if he'd just realized it to be the case indeed. Josh suppressed a sudden urge to laugh and asked himself whether he would survive the whole month of being around that man. But, he quickly decided, they would hardly see each other; the director seemed to be a very busy person...

"Ah, that's indeed so. Mr Or, I'm extremely happy that you could come here. You're really saving us," he threw out in just one breath. "I hope you've had a pleasant journey and that the flat is to your liking, although the standard is quite low and-"

Josh interrupted that litany of things he found pretty irrelevant. There were more important matters, and he wouldn't know his position unless they discussed it. He also came to the conclusion that the sooner they got it over with, the sooner Director could return to his duties, that were certainly more significant than talking with a student. He'd better take matters in his hands.

"Yes, Director... I hope that you tell me more about my duties here..." he suggested. "I'm very interested in this... work." saying this didn't came easy. A second-year student and work? "I suppose I shall start right away...?"

Director blinked - and smiled lightly, which made his face look better at once. "I see you're enthusiastic about it. I'm really happy to know that," he said, still smiling. "Yes, I think it's best if you start today. Of course, first you have to learn about the hospital and the wards. We'll start with formalities, but it would be favourable if you meet the patients today, at least some of them."

Josh nodded. He'd imagined it to be that way himself. "Am I going to have a specific assignment or work on all three wards?" he asked.

"I see that you've already acquainted yourself with the hospital organization," Director said approvingly.

"Etienne described it to me yesterday, so I know it, more or less."

"Etienne...? Ah, that's right, he was asked to receive you. Well, I thought about assigning you to the acute ward."

"That new one, where all-diagnosis patients are admitted to...?" Josh asked. Actually, he realized it now, he'd hoped to get there.

"Do you have anything against that?" Director asked cautiously.

Josh firmly shook his head. "Sir, it is you who decide here," he replied. "Please, use me as you see fit," he added, finding it appropriate, and the man brightened even more. "Besides, I'm glad about it. Work on an acute ward is more educational... or so I think. You know, Sir, that I am supposed to have my practice period as well...?" He paused, musing over the most crucial matter. "Speaking of what... First of all, Sir, I would like you to tell me what difference a student after the second year of Psychology can make in his hospital... According to Professor Villeneuve, I shall talk with the patients...?"

Upon hearing his friend's name, Director clearly warmed up - maybe he remembered that it was him who had sent Josh here, and considered it a good recommendation - and began to exhaustively answer his question, with enthusiasm Josh would never suspect of him. During the next quarter Josh learned that he would talk with the patients, indeed - only that and so much. He would talk about their condition and symptoms, about their past and their future plans, about anything they would like to talk and what concerned them. He would write down these information in medical records, that he himself would have full access to, of course. He was obliged to secrecy, which meant he wasn't allowed to reveal any details on the patients and their treatment to a third party. He was not allowed to make any decisions about the treatment process, for it belonged to the doctors, but he was supposed to co-operate with the psychiatrists. Director encouraged him to participate in the morning report and the round, as well as consult the doctor whenever he felt like doing so.

"But the doctors are surely very busy?" he guessed with anxiety. "If they have to tend to three wards, ten-fifteen patients per each-"

"Thirty."

"Excuse me?"

"Our wards have capacity for thirty bed patients each," Director replied calmly. "Usually, they are full."

Josh stared at him mutely for a longer while and then decided against bothering the doctors unless really necessary. He hoped there was a library here and that he would find some book on clinical psychology. On examining a patient. Anything.

Director continued about how important for a psychiatric patient was a possibility to talk, share his fears, thoughts, feelings with another person. About how Josh should relate to them kindly and politely yet firmly. About that he shouldn't become involved emotionally in their problems. He should remember that, as a staff member, he was supposed to help, not lose his head and cry over the patients' fate. Crying iself was nothing bad, and once per week the personnel of every ward had a closed meeting, its purpose being to openly tell about one's work difficulties, vent emotions and receive support from colleagues. Also, Josh shouldn't take personally any unpleasant comments if he heard such from the patients' family members, which wasn't uncommon.

"Then, I am allowed to talk with the families?" he asked.

"If you wish so. It might help them, too."

Josh remembered how comforted he'd felt by speaking with Dr Sellier during Alain's hospitalisation. He guessed that staff of Sainte-Jeanne was too busy to meet the patients' relatives and utilise their presence in treating process... That reminded him of another thing.

"Am I allowed... to take the patients for a walk?" he inquired. "Of course, only those that the doctor gives a permission to. Etienne mentioned that there are many who can go outside with assistance..."

"I don't see why not. It's a good idea. Do you have others?" he said, and it took Josh a moment to realize that Director was joking; he blushed and shook his head. "Then, do you have any questions?"

Josh mused. "Only one," he said in the end. "How long am I supposed to be here? I know that one month, at least; that's the length of my practice..."

Director gave him a sad look. "If you feel like, you can stay here your whole holidays," he replied. "But it's not a well-paid job... We cannot pay a full salary to a student," he explained in an apologetic voice, "so I don't think you'd like to spend your summer here..."

"Paid?" Josh asked weakly. "I thought..."

"You thought you came here to work for free?" Director was clearly surprised. "My dear Mr Or, it's not a financial problem we struggle against here. At least, it's not our main concern... But I must admit I am touched. You've come here from far away to help us without being rewarded, how selfless of you... I wouldn't believe there are still people like you in Paris."

Josh left unspoken that he actually had come from vicinity and almost could be considered a neighbour. "But the hospital is already paying for my accommodation and-"

Director lifted one hand to stop his protests. "That's the least we can do," he said solemnly. "And, of course, you work from Monday to Friday, eight hours per day with a lunch break. You have free weekends... although you won't find many forms of entertainment here," he added with some resignation.

Josh waved his hand; what entertainment he might need when he had such a park for the taking? He was still surprised by Director's words. He hadn't expected he would be given some money for staying here; the practice period was obligatory, after all... Well, it wasn't the most important; he mused over the previous topic.

"I came here for one month," he stated slowly. "And I'm going to stay here one month," he added with a sudden resolve. "But if I fit... if I manage... then I'll see. If I like it here and am able to really help, then I may stay here longer. Only that I never before... never before worked with psychiatric patients. So I don't know if I'll live up to your expectations, Sir," he said with some helplessness. He really didn't trust his skills. No, he didn't even know he had any.

"Why don't we figure that out today?" Director replied with a smile and rose, so Josh followed. The man walked him to the door. "Madame Montagne, the head nurse, is waiting for you. She is going to explain all practical things to you and show you the hospital. You can ask her about anything. Madame Montagne knows everything there is to know about Sainte-Jeanne. Her office is in the other end of the corridor," he showed the direction.

Josh stretched his hand. "Thank you for giving me your time, Director Girard," he said quite officially.

"It is I who thank you," the man replied, shaking his hand. "I hope you will enjoy your stay here."

"I am enchanted by this place," Josh replied truthfully. "I mean the area. As for my work, I approach it openly. I want to learn something, in the first place. But of course it's important to me that my staying here is of use to you. I'll give my best," he said, although it sounded a bit too stiff to his ears.

Director, however, didn't think that; to the contrary, he appeared close to tears, so Josh quickly evacuated from his office to meet another person who - he sensed it - was of great importance for his being here. Madame Montagne... _Marianne Montagne_ , said the nameplate on the door. He cleared his throat and knocked, hoping that, this time, he wouldn't make a _woman_ cry... However, when he heard invitation and entered, he quickly understood there was no need to fear that.

Madame Montagne rose from her chair by the desk, and Josh realized that, even if he hadn't known how a head nurse should look like so far, from now on he would never have any doubt about it. Madame was as tall as he, only twice as broad yet, strangely, didn't seem obese. She was wearing a traditional outfit - or, at least, Josh imagined that was how nurses had used to clothe in old times - in a grey dress with an apron and white cap. She appeared over fifty and probably was already approaching sixty, yet her face was only slightly wrinkled. The gaze of her slate-blue eyes was attentive and vigilant, and her lips were slightly drawn. She inspired awe; that was obvious for Josh. He thought that her family name suited her perfectly; she _was_ like a mountain, dominant and seeing everything below.

Madame was looking at him as intensely, but there was hardly any kindness on her face. Apparently, she was a stern and demanding person, which also fitted; to manage the personnel of such a big facility, she must have been strong and firm. Her office, too, proved her to be a disciplined and organized - contrary to the director's office, this place was very tidy, with books and folders put on the shelves. A white net-curtain was moving in the windows, the geranium in the pot was smelling in the sunlight, and the paintings of rustic landscapes were hanging on the walls. The interior was the same as in the previous room, yet, for some reason, it fitted here much better.

Josh returned to the woman who was the soul of this place. He approached her and stretched his arm, already aware he wouldn't be showered with compliments or praise. However, he didn't expected _such_ a welcome, either. "I'm Joshua Or. I arrived from Paris yesterday," he said politely. "I'm going to help on the acute ward for the next month. Director sent me here to-"

The woman's eyes grew more narrow, when she took his hand. "Marianne Montagne. Don't you dare to seduce the women, our patients."

Josh blinked and instinctively stepped back, freeing his arm from her very strong grasp. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, astonished and puzzled as to whether he should feel flattered or offended.

However, the idea to treat it as a joke quickly evaporated from his mind, when Madame spoke again. "You've heard me," she said, sitting down behind her desk; the chair creaked under her weight. "Even if you look good, it doesn't mean you're allowed to do anything."

Now Josh felt angry, but he tried to remain calm. "I assure you that flirting with patients wouldn't even occur to my mind," he replied coldly.

"I hope so, but I'm going to observe you nonetheless," she said menacingly, and it was close that she wagged her finger at him. "There's no knowing, with the likes of you."

Now, that was enough. Being suspected of such intentions was one thing - so absurd that he nearly felt like laughing - but if it were to influence how his work here was viewed, he preferred to straighten it out at once.

He placed both hands on the desk and looked down at Madame. "In that case, let me tell you... and I'd prefer you didn't particularly put it around, Madame... that I'm not interested in women," he hissed. "But rest assured; I'm not going to seduce the _male_ patients either. First, I'm in a relationship; second... I wouldn't have come here from Paris to... to a love conquest!"

He was satisfied to see her eyes widen in an authentic astonishment. Surely, she wasn't used to be treated this way. He guessed that she enjoyed undisputed respect, probably even greater than Director... Josh considered himself quite a calm man, but he just hated any misunderstandings about himself and, more than anything, couldn't stand being treated unfairly; in such a situation, he was ready to defend himself, and his sharp tongue would help him a lot. To tell the truth, he realized he was quite amused, in the end. And, besides, it seemed that Madame Montagne was a person of character, even if haggish.

Never waiting for invitation, he sat down on the chair opposite her and said, "Then, shall we start one again and forget about the earlier...? I'm Joshua Or, I've come from Paris..."

"Right, you've come from Paris," she said distractedly and rubbed her forehead, but then fixed her gaze on him again. "Are you, by any chance... Do you know Tristan Vallee?" she asked in a hostile voice.

"Never heard of him," Josh replied right away, feeling he was getting angry again. "Who's that?" he asked with annoyance. Here he was trying to prove his goodwill, yet she kept picking on him.

"No-one important," Madame responded, apparently contended with his answer, and clasped her hands on the desk. "If you don't know him, it's the best. I am Marianne Montagne, the head nurse in Sainte-Jeanne Hospital. I'm sorry to have greeted you that unpleasant way," she claimed, but nothing in her voice indicated she really was.

"Don't worry about that," Josh replied as friendly. "Somehow, we'll have to spend one month in each other's company. We shouldn't be bothered by such trifles and feel offended."

She looked him in the eye, and it was the first time that Josh saw some flash of smile in her glance, although her face was as stern as before. "You are right," she agreed. "Yes, you've come here for one month," she said in a neutral tone, and Josh wondered whether, contrary to Director, she considered him a scourge. "I suppose you've already discussed all the details with Director...?"

"Director sent me to you, Madame, in order to be informed of all practical matters," he rushed to explain.

"I see." Madame nodded and opened one drawer to take out a key and a sheet of paper. "Here is the key you're going to use when in the hospital. And here comes your acknowledgement."

Josh signed a short writing in which he committed himself to minding the key and return it after his work here was done. Madame Montagne put the paper in the folder and then took out and passed to him a name tag. 'Joshua Or, an intern,' it wrote below the logo of hospital. Well, 'an intern' undoubtedly sounded better than 'a trainee' or, even worse, 'a student'. And it was obscure enough to make people not realize who he really was. Apparently, the management of hospital didn't intend to announce that they had employed a completely inexperienced student.

"You will attach it and wear it every time," Madame instructed, giving him a severe look. "That is, whenever you're at work."

Josh did as she commanded him to - he hoped the tag would hold - and looked at her again.

"As for your clothing, you can stay like you are. There's no requirement to wear a uniform," Madame said and scrutinized him for a moment; she seemed about to add something, obviously concerning his appearance... However, she decided to leave it unsaid, and instead gave him another paper. "Here is the week schedule of the ward. As you see, the day starts with the morning report at eight; both doctors and ward sisters attend it... I'm going to show you the place later. At half past eight the round starts; it is scheduled to end by ten, but in reality it lasts much longer than that. If I am correct, you are supposed to attend both, is that right?" she asked, and Josh nodded. "The remaining time is for your individual disposal, except for occasional meetings of personnel, as you can see here," she pointed at specific sessions on three different days. "You are not obliged to participate, but the personnel will be pleased to see you there anyway," she said in a way clearly indicating that Josh should conform. "The lunch break is between eleven and twelve; hospital covers your eating expenses."

"But-" Josh objected weakly.

"Hospital covers your eating expenses," Madame repeated in a tone that didn't accept any objection. "Or, do you have such a delicate palate that our country cooking won't be to your liking?" she added bitingly.

"Now you are being mean, Madame," Josh retorted. "I eat everything that is served."

"Very good," Madame praised him, as if he were five-year old. "Is the schedule clear to you? Keep it," she added, and something in her voice implied he should tape it on the door and memorize as soon as possible. "Do you have any questions?"

Josh certainly had, tons of questions, but nothing specific occurred to his mind at the moment, so he shook his head. Madame rose - and it seemed the room became smaller. When Josh jumped to his feet, she waved at him to follow her.

"In that case, let's go to the hospital. You should ask whenever anything occurs to you," she encouraged in not a very encouraging voice. Josh even had the impression she found it impossible that anything 'occurred to him'; at least, anything useful. Oh, he would show her, he decided and, after a moment, realized that his long forgotten ambitiousness was speaking up.

It was only past nine, yet it was scorching heat outside. Josh rolled up the sleeves and followed Madame, who headed for the entrance of the main building in a dignified stride, never caring about the temperature. Josh thought that, if the heat knew who she was, it would run away at once. They crossed the yard with probably the only maintained flower bed and entered a hall, that was much cooler. Josh curiously looked around until his eyes caught a big board listing the wards. 'Once, it must have been much longer,' he decided with sadness, staring at the free space. Now there was only three names: 'Psychosis 1' wrote off to 'Acute Ward', first floor; 'Psychosis 2', first floor; 'Chronic Mood Disorders', second floor.

Madame went into the corridor to the right, so he followed her. "Here is where the morning report takes place," she showed the empty room, now filled with sunlight. "At eight," she reminded.

They resumed walking in the corridor that ended in a canteen. It was bathed in light, too, thanks to windows in all three walls and bright décor. Josh was aware that during a sunny day every place looked nice, but he really liked it here nonetheless. The dining area was very spacious, and he shouldn't be surprised by that, since the hospital had once been really huge. He guessed that, during its glory days, it must have contained over ten, maybe even over twenty wards... All that personnel required to be provided meals, and thus the size. Josh saw the tables on the central yard, too; apparently, one could eat outside if felt like doing so.

"Lunch is-"

"Between eleven and twelve," Josh replied to show he remembered that.

Madame nodded approvingly and made her way back to the hall to, Josh suspected, proceed to the ward. However, if he thought they would use the old-fashioned lift in the centre, he was disappointed to see her climb the stairs. She probably believed that, with her size and all, she should care about her fitness, which Josh found appealing. It was clear, though, they wouldn't have any race; they moved up at a leisurely pace. Through the high windows Josh could see that there was indeed a broad space between the two hospital wings; once, it must have been a well kept yard, but now it was overgrown with the grass.

The broad stairs of polished stone took them to the first floor, where Madame opened the proper door. "When entering the ward, always make sure there is no-one behind the door. I mean, except for the personnel," she said when they were already inside.

Josh looked around the wide corridor that stretched ahead some thirty meters before turning left. The ward was situated in the same wing that the canteen... and was huge. Now he was no longer surprised that Director had told him about thirty beds. To tell the truth, it seemed much more patients might fit here, only it wouldn't be humane any more - both for themselves and the staff.

At present, the patients were pretty much invisible - except for a few, clearly absorbed in their own worlds, to whom the request to stay in their rooms during the round had no meaning. Madame walked on, her heels clicking on the floor, but not as much as it was disturbing. Josh followed her, realizing it was nicely cool inside. True, the sun had yet to start shining on this side of the building, yet he supposed that the thick stone walls isolated the interior from the heat anyway. The problem was whether it wasn't too cold here during cloudy days...

Madame showed him the nurse station in the central part of the ward, now empty, and guided him to the room that he was supposed to use. When he slipped inside after her, he had to suppress a cry of surprise. He had expected some tiny closet, yet what he found could equal the best offices he'd seen so far. Actually, he felt quite bewildered, staring at the beautiful furniture and shelves full of books...

Shelves full of books? He turned around and gave Madame a questioning look.

"It is the office of our psychologist, Mr Bordes, who was forced to resign his post due to medical reasons," she explained, sitting down on the leather couch and waving at him to do the same. "He didn't manage to take anything, so it was left as it was. I don't think he would have anything against you using it," she added in a tone ringing with some sympathy; then, however, she cleared her throat and said more sharply. "Do you have any questions about the hospital?"

Josh shook his head. "I wanted to ask you about the library, but it seems I can find everything needed here."

Madame's eyes flashed with approval, yet her words were incisive, "You can't possibly believe to learn from the books how to deal with those people?", she said provocatively. "You won't find anything about the most important thing there."

Josh turned to her, holding back his smile. He had the impression he was slowly getting used to her character and way of being. "Then, what is the most important thing, Madame Montagne?" he asked.

"Heart," she replied without a second thought. "You must have a heart for them," she repeated with emphasis. "Of course, I don't mean any indecent behaviour," she added right away.

"That last remark was unnecessary," Josh retorted.

"I said it just in case," she claimed sternly, but he could tell the corner of her lips twitch. "Well, this is the place you can speak with the patients. But you must know with whom you can be left alone," she instructed. "You're going to learn that from the doctor during the round. If anything happens, though, you just run away from here," she said outright. "Keep it in mind to always sit closer to the door. In psychiatry, it's no use playing a hero, for it may end tragically," she declared in a cold, matter-of-fact tone.

Josh nodded. "I know. Quite recently I had to do with a psychotic... a paranoid person," he replied and gulped. "It was nothing pleasant," he added in a softer voice.

Madame had a closer look at him. "It's good that you have some experience," she commented.

He waved his hand. "I have no experience whatsoever," he put her straight. "It was... a personal matter. That's why your guidance is so important. Please, tell me more."

Madame kept observing him for a while before resuming the subject. "If such a situation happens that you can't leave the room, you can activate the alarm. It's there on the wall, behind the desk." Josh followed her gesture and saw a small button. "It will bring help immediately. I'm sure that the personnel will know who can come here with you, but I say it just in case. Remember that your own safety is a priority," she emphasized. "I don't say that psychiatric patients are aggressive by nature, yet in some situations they can pose a threat to others. You know that already, don't you?" she added with a meaningful look.

Josh's hand involuntarily moved up towards his throat before he realized that and lowered it again onto his lap. He knew that... that event had left no traces, yet it would last a longer while before he managed to forget it altogether.

"Patient's records are kept in the nurse station," Madame continued. "You can use them but shouldn't move outside the ward. Director has told you to make a note of every meeting with a patient, hasn't he? Good."

"But... What should I write?" Josh suddenly became aware of his ignorance.

"Everything, Mr Or," Madame replied, giving him a penetrating look. "In psychiatry, every thing is of significance. However, there's no point in creating novels, for no-one's so patient to get through it," she added crisply. "Apart from that, it would be the best that initially you settle for shorter appointments, like twenty minutes, thirty at the very most. Some patients would talk you to death, which wouldn't do," now there was an evident kindness in her voice. "You're going to stay here for a month, after all," she added bitingly right away.

Josh grinned. He liked Madame more and more with every minute; she was intelligent and had a defiant character, if that could be said of someone her age. It probably could, he decided.

They talked about the best way to relate to the patients, for it was what interested him the most - as well as evoked his greatest concern. Josh confessed he had absolutely no experience with psychiatric patients. He decided to be honest and speak openly; he'd rather exposed himself to contempt and shame now than have his incompetence lead to someone getting hurt. Madame, however, took those revelations calmly and commented that everyone was a beginner at some point of their life, although she said that with an expression clearly indicating that, herself, she had known everything right at the beginning.

Madame instructed Josh to be honest and compassionate towards the patients, but she also repeated Director's words about not becoming involved in their problems. Also, the conversations shouldn't be like talks by coffee, and if they started to drift, he should correct them. He should be warm but also firm. Talking of himself was not an option, and he should remain patient and understanding in regards to statements like, 'You haven't experienced this, so you can't understand me.' 'If we'd gone through the same things our patients had, we shouldn't have been able to truly help him,' she said. 'It is our objective view that allows us to treat them, and it's our empathy that reinforces our efforts, the capacity to understand their situation despite never having experienced it.'

Josh listened to that very carefully. It sounded rather complicated, yet he thought he grasped the heart of the matter. "Then, the main thing is to retain the balance between compassion and... and professionalism?" he guessed. "To not overdo in either way? To show the patients we care, but never forger that we have a task to accomplish, at the same time?"

Madame looked at him appreciatively. "I see you have a good head on your shoulders," she said, and he realized it was the very first compliment she'd bestowed on him. Not counting that one about his looks, questionable as it was.

"No, it's just that you explain those things very well, Madame," he replied modestly. "I only hope I'll be able to find that balance. It doesn't seem an easy thing..."

"It's just a matter of practice. You're going to see yourself that every day and every talk with a patient will enhance your knowledge. It's an obvious thing that you cannot learn patient work from books, only from doing it. Of course, books can provide you with a direction," she added somewhat reluctantly.

They became immersed in talking once more, with Josh asking even more enthusiastically and being given exhaustive, satisfying answers. Finally, he fell silent, for it seemed to him that the topic had been profoundly dealt with, and his theoretical knowledge threatened to burst his mind.

Madame Montagne waited a moment before asking in her typical way, "Do you have more questions?"

Josh slowly shook his head. No, he certainly had enough for one day. "I think I'm going to wait in the nurse station until the round is over..." he said, looking at his watch. "I'm going to introduce myself to everyone. I'm sure they will tell me what to do next," he added with his heart racing. "And lunch is soon, too."

"I see you have a proper attitude," Madame was clearly contended and spared him a gracious smile. "Never forget about lunch. Whatever happens, you must find time to eat. We don't want any fainting students here. Our doctors are busy enough with the patients," she added sternly, but her eyes flashed. She already knew that Josh realized her sense of humour and wouldn't be bothered by her ironic remarks.

'I bet you eat three lunches per day,' Josh thought but didn't dare to vocalize it. "Yes, Madame Montagne," he said obediently.

"That's because you don't look like you have a good appetite," she needled him more.

"Don't worry, I've always been this skinny," he replied at once. "Besides... It's such a wonderful place that I feel much energetic and my appetite gets better."

Her face softened. "It is a beautiful place, isn't it?" she asked in an entirely different voice. "I'm glad you appreciate that."

"Maybe you should attach the photo of the hospital grounds to the job offers?" Josh suggested without thinking as it just had occurred to him. "I'm sure it would encourage people. I'm already in love with this place, although I arrived only yesterday."

Dreaminess vanished from Madame's eyes, and she was staring at him with an intent and fixed gaze again. "That's a very good idea," she muttered. "Apparently, you need a Parisian brain to think about it."

"Ah, but I'm only studying in Paris," Josh replied. "In fact, I come from Esperanto."

"Well, yes, I could have guessed that from your name..." She nodded thoughtfully before looking at him once more. "Maybe from Idealo?"

Josh smiled. "I did go to Saint Grollo..."

"My, the elite boys' school!" she exclaimed with some happiness. "And now you study at the University of Paris, well, well..."

"You seem to know quite a lot about Esperanto...?" he asked shyly.

"But it's just round the corner. You can walk there in one hour. Of course, it's a longer way to Idealo."

"Madame, I'd like to one day ask you how to get there. Now I don't want to talk about... about private matters during work time. Am I allowed to visit you in your office?" he requested.

"Why should you take the trouble?" she replied. "I eat with everyone in the canteen. If you could accompany me by my table..." she suggested.

Josh forgot how to talk. "You're an angel, Madame," he said when he finally got his speech back.

"No. To tell the truth, I come from Esperanto, too," she confessed, getting up, "only that I moved out of Idealo almost forty years ago. I'll be happy to talk to my fellow countryman."

Josh became speechless again. In just two hours, he was promoted from a seducer to a compatriot. Well, in his eyes, she was promoted from a hag to an angel, so they were on equal terms.

"I'll be honoured, Madame," he said and bowed his head.

"In that case, I leave you here," she replied with dignity and sailed out of the room like a galleon, shutting the door without a sound.

Josh stared at the place she'd disappeared; then, he approached the window and looked out at the sunbathed yard with a single bed of pansies, calming down his racing heart. It hadn't been that bad, he decided. He'd met with a nice welcome, and everything had been positive so far; nothing unpleasant had taken place. Director was quite exalted - which could be pardoned in current situation - and Madame Montagne seemed too strict, but he'd realized it was just a pose hiding her soft heart. He already liked both of them.

However, sympathy of his superiors meant nothing if he wasn't accepted by the ward personnel and, above all, didn't prove his usefulness in patient work. The very thought made his heart quicken even more, his palms getting sweaty. He feared to be rejected. This office was a shelter; he felt like staying here... but Joshua Or wasn't a coward. The sooner he did that, the easier it would be.

He looked through the books on the shelves and took one, _Introduction to Working with a Psychiatric Patient_. Yes, he could use that one. Certain he wouldn't be able to read with understanding as little as one page, he slipped out of the office and went to the nurse station, where he took the first chair and opened the book.

As he was skimming through the table of contents, a sudden realization struck him: for last two hours... no, actually since his coming do Sainte-Jeanne, he hadn't thought even once about his broken heart. If last Friday anyone had told him that in less than a week he would be able to feel as enthusiastic as he did now, he wouldn't have believed - and instead he would have felt offended. Now he could only hope such state would hold until the end of his stay in this exceptional place. It would benefit both himself and others.

* * *

 _The most important thing is to never harden your heart - Janna, "Sä et ole hullu"_


	5. Chapter 5

**5. _  
(kuule mun toive, mä haluan pois)_**

* * *

 _Sainte-Jeanne, May, 22_

 _My Love,_

 _I have no idea when you're going to read this, but I still want to write to you. I'm currently staying in Sainte-Jeanne, where I'm doing my student practice. I was supposed to have it in Paris, but things became complicated, and it was no longer possible. Instead, I was offered a place in Sainte-Jeanne Hospital and decided to take it. I had no possibility to inform you about it, and thus I send this letter._

 _I've only been here three days, yet I have no regrets about having come here. Sainte-Jeanne itself is nothing special - just a small town by a railway - but the vicinity of the hospital is simply beautiful. This facility differs a lot from Saint-Maurice Hospital, though they probably were established approximately the same time. However, Saint-Maurice is much more elegant, while this place is rather wild. At first, it served as a sanatorium, and that's why the hospital is located in a huge park, far from other places and locals. It makes me think of Saint-Grollo, a bit, with those trees and nature all around._

 _Every day, I speak with the patients. I forgot to mention it is a psychiatric hospital; that's why I compared it to Saint-Maurice. (But I won't mention it again, for it may stir some unpleasant memories in you). I work on the acute ward, meet different patients, and learn new things day by day. Sometimes it's upsetting, and sometimes it's funny - depending on a diagnosis. Upon coming home, I'm dead tired and unable to do more than just a short walk, and I sleep like log at night. But I really like it here, and I have a wonderful feeling that I can be of some use. Of course, a student like me can't do much, but I still try to be positive about it. I'm going to stay here one month, but it's not yet definitely decided._

 _Although we saw each other only last week, I already miss you very much. I want you to know that. I hope everything's all right at your end, and that you're in a good health. And that the weather in Paris is as good as here, that is: warm and sunny. Take care of yourself!_

 _Yours_

 _Joshua_

 _PS. If you want, of course you can write to me. I'll be happy about hearing from you! The address is on the envelope. However, don't worry if I don't reply at once; I think about making a short trip to Esperanto. It's been a whole year since my last visit in Idealo, and I'd like to stop by some other places as well._

Josh critically regarded the result of his effort. Creating that letter, its content fitting in just one page, had taken nearly three hours. The biggest problem was making a decision as to what mood the note should be written in. He hadn't wanted to be attacking nor accusing - but, on the other hand, putting no emotion wouldn't do, either. In the end, he'd created something that resembled a message he might send at any point of their relationship... that was, at any _normal_ point of their relationship. As if nothing had happened; as if nothing serious had occurred. As if they were still together. Well, this way wasn't right, either, for the image of Josh emerging from this letter wasn't exactly true: that Josh seemed not to care about the events of the last week at all, glossed over them, and consigned them into oblivion.

Yet, all in all, that was what he'd chosen, the lesser evil. Well, maybe it was the right way? That aiming at reconciliation, showing Alain that he still wanted him... Being patient with Alain hadn't failed him even once, so far. Sure, after every parting he'd felt as if he'd been torn in half... but he'd always managed to get himself together, and he hoped it would be the case in the future, too. Sure, he could have written something like, 'If you leave me once more, I will never want to see you again,' but it would be pointless. Especially that - which he realized more and more with every passing minute - Alain's presence mattered to him so much that he could pay any price. He knew that such attitude could bring out the worst in some people, yet he didn't consider Alain to be one of them.

Maybe it was some blindness on his part, after all; not that it would surprise him, for he'd always had a tendency to it... On the other hand, recently he'd started to slowly reach the conclusion that blindness - that particular liability to ignore some facts about another person - was probably a natural mechanism of a human psyche and could even have some important function. In that case, he should really be more forbearing towards himself and not try to always control all his feelings, thoughts, and emotions, or aiming at always acting the _right_ way. What did it even mean: right? Correct? Faultless? But he wasn't a machine, only a living man. It simply wasn't possible to live one's life without making even one mistake. It was no use reproaching himself for every one, either.

However, he was supposed to think of Alain... No, he really didn't believe that Alain might decide at some point he could hurt Josh as much as he pleased, for Josh would always forgive him that. He knew that Alain genuinely cared about him and was concerned with his welfare... at least as long as he considered Josh someone important. And if he stopped, he would just disappear, that was all. Maybe it was the case this time, Josh didn't know. What he did know was that there were other options, and he acted upon one of them.

He put the letter inside an envelope and affixed the stamp he'd got by begging in the administrative office. Actually, he might walk to the post-box in the hall of the main building at once. Though it would be cleared no sooner than Monday... He looked at the watch; it was nearly three o'clock. The post-box by the station was probably emptied on Saturdays, too, but it would take him two hours to reach it, which was too long... He spent a moment, thinking whether such a trip to the town had any sense - he had nothing against a good walk, especially with such a wonderful weather... But he wanted to finally do some reading today... recline on the grass with a book and delve into arcana of patient work, at least theoretically. The letter should wait; he didn't even know if anyone waited for it... Besides, the post-box by the station must have been already emptied, too.

He put the letter aside and reached for a book, but holding it he became immersed in thought again. He laid his arms on the desk and rested his head on them, recalling what he'd written in the letter. He'd been staying in Sainte-Jeanne for just a few days, yet he really felt great here. It was no longer solely about the splendid nature, but about what he did here and how he was being received - which was better he could have imagined.

The last two days had been very intense. On Thursday, he'd met Dr Lenard and had begun to acquaint himself with the nurse staff. All of them had been so nice to him! Deep inside, Josh had feared they would consider him as an additional trouble, but, if anyone thought so indeed, they were good at hiding it. Dr Lenard, quite a young man, had given him the copy of the patient list, marking those that Josh could start working with. And Josh had started; the very same day, after lunch, he'd met five patients who, more or less, had opened their hearts to him... or, at least, had shared their contents with him. Josh would listen carefully, make notes, and tried not to miss any word. Sometimes he wouldn't understand a thing, sometimes he would feel completely useless; sometimes he would feel like shaking the person sitting before him. He would ask about the matters that had seemed significant. He would try to provide the patients with another viewpoint if he'd found it beneficial. He would comfort and show support, and stimulate optimism, Sometimes he would remain silent; some questions or statements would make him unable to give any response.

According to Madame Montagne's suggestion, he hadn't talked with the patients long, or so it'd seemed to him. However, the time had flown, and before he'd realized, it'd been four o'clock, while he'd yet had a paper work to do. He'd left past six, but hadn't felt bad about it. He hadn't been in a hurry, and the work had been filling him with happiness. The next day, it had been even better. On the morning report - Madame had been attending, apparently to keep an eye on him - he'd got to know Dr Beaufils, who'd cordially welcomed him in Sainte-Jeanne. She was a middle-aged woman with silvery hair and warm, gentle smile. The two psychiatrists took care of the three wards, and it was beyond Josh's comprehension how it was even possible.

He'd very quickly understood how swamped with duties every person in this hospital was. During the day shift, there were four nurses on the ward - an they were taking care of thirty patients! Just giving the medication and making sure that the patients took them, lasted over one hour, and the medication was scheduled to be given at least three times per day. Then, there were various hygiene activities by those who couldn't take care of themselves, tending to the patients in seclusion, and constant mitigation of the tension that, on such a big ward - and in this particular type of hospital - couldn't be avoided. There was simply no time for a longer conversation, even though everyone knew how crucial it was. A few words spoken by the patient's bed, a little help with writing a letter, sometimes some gesture or a compliment... was all that the staff members could afford, for there were next patients waiting. Still, they would perform their duties calmly and with patience, without any outbursts of anger or frustration... and it was only during Friday meeting that Josh had seen how the emotions were vented - in order to be able to again go out to the patients with a gentle smile and warm attitude. Apparently, that service wasn't easy.

Josh had quickly felt it himself, too. He approached his task with enthusiasm, joy, and excitement, yet he would come back home completely exhausted - while sitting by the desk or in the armchair couldn't wear him down so much, could it?! He guessed that what he'd heard from both Director and Madame Montagne - about not getting involved - had been not only a warning but also a reminding. Josh suspected that every member of the staff must have, to lesser or greater extent, be bothered by the patients' problems and suffering, no matter how often they would tell themselves they had better not. The only way out was to become completely indifferent, emotionally numb - but then, would anyone be able to actually do that job? Josh doubted it.

On the second day, there had been a queue in front of his office. Upon returning from lunch, he'd been anxious to see a whole gathering of patients who'd wished to speak with him. He'd had a difficult task to choose those few that the doctor had 'recommended' after the round; he hadn't felt like dismissing anyone just like that, only had promised to talk with everybody, but not today. Some had left politely, some had kept insisting, and some others had probably provided only a company, having no idea what had been actually happening there. In the end, Josh had left at six, again, yet with a feeling of a good work done.

However, one event filled him with embarrassment - a memory of the situation that had happened earlier, when he'd been listening to a bizarre story of a schizophrenic patient and couldn't understand a thing. A quarter past eleven precisely, a firm knocking had been heard, and the next moment the door had opened, revealing Madame Montagne wearing a stern expression. She had cast Josh a meaningful look and then, politely yet allowing no protest, had informed the patient (as abashed as Josh at that moment) that 'Mr Or would be busy until twelve.' After that, without any further comment, she'd dragged Josh out for lunch. Josh had decided that from now on he would go down for a meal even if it would be his only activity during his work day, and he planned to stick to his decision; aloud he'd promised it would never happen again.

Eating with Madame had somewhat intimidated him, but she had had mercy on him and hadn't related to the embarrassing situation at all, only - just as the previous day - had directed the conversation on Idealo. That subject wouldn't be exhausted in a day or two, and Josh supposed they would enjoy it for a longer while. Madame intentionally hadn't touched the work-related topics, while she'd been more than willing to converse about her home town. Josh had felt very quickly an urge to visit his old parts, which currently wasn't possible: the hospital absorbed him completely, both physically and mentally.

Today, he'd gone to work again - although he didn't have to work on weekends - for just three hours. He'd decided that he should use this opportunity, for it was both enjoyable for him and beneficial to others. However, he'd returned home after lunch, for he'd wanted to write this letter, and he'd been too tired to do it on weekdays, as he was to read.

He rose from the desk and grabbed the book again. During one of his walks, he'd found a wonderful spot with lots of forget-me-nots; it was perfect for reading, and he wanted to use it today. However, he didn't get far; in the corridor, he nearly bumped into Etienne. Actually, that was how their recent encounters had looked like the last two days. The nurse had been doing a night shift, so he would be in a hurry when Josh would come from work, and they would only have a short talk. They hadn't even managed to make Josh promised shopping, so he'd continued to stay on the mercy of the nurse and his supply, which made him feel guilty.

This time, however, Etienne brightened upon seeing him, as much as could be seen in this quite dark passage. "Going for a walk? So you're not bored with the place yet, are you?" he asked.

"I wanted to finally do some reading," Josh explained, waving the book. "I was too exhausted after work..."

"Don't overexert yourself," the nurse threw ironically and winced. "Reading? On Saturday? Well, don't you feel like going with me to the town?" he offered and, upon Josh's surprise, added, "I'm finished with night shift for now. I have two days off and start on day shift on Monday," he explained.

"A-ah... that's good, I think," Josh wasn't sure how to react.

"Sure it's good!" Etienne called cheerfully. "I'm going to compensate for that grind. Come with me," he insisted. "It's healthy to spend some time in a normal company, every now and then," he added mockingly. "My treat."

Josh hesitated for a moment before nodding. He had nothing against spending the afternoon with the nurse - the first person who'd treated him nicely here. He asked Etienne to wait and went back to the room to leave the book and take the letter. Soon, they were in the car, heading for the main gate and, later, for the town.

"So? Do you manage?" the nurse asked in a positive manner. "Two days isn't much, but you've probably started to realize what kind of work it is...?"

"Don't laugh at me, but I find it terribly delightful," Josh replied eagerly. "If someone had told me that I would enjoy working in an asylum so much, I wouldn't have believed. And know what? I have the impression I can be of some use... that what I do is significant... Even though I'm just a student."

Etienne nodded. "Sure it is," he agreed, and Josh felt happy. "You're of great help, really. Don't doubt it. The patients talk about you all the time," he added with a crooked smile.

"Oh," Josh said. "And... what do they talk?" he asked shyly. "I hope nothing bad...?"

"Nothing bad," the nurse assured him. "They are happy that you're here. Mrs Durand is of the opinion you helped her a lot, comforting her after that nightmare. Last night she didn't even wanted a sleeping pill; she was sure she would sleep well without it. Well, this morning she didn't complain about anything, regardless of how she'd slept."

Josh remained silent, unable to respond to such a praise. He thought the feeling of pride was going to blow him up. For a moment, he just stared at the green fields of rye waiting for the sun of early summer to colour them gold. Finally, when he could trust his voice again, he said, "I really can't understand why people won't come to work here. It a fantastic place. And a fantastic job that-"

"Would you like to do it all your life?" Etienne broke in.

Josh stopped in mid-sentence. Would he...? He mused. To tell the truth, it had been just two days... well, two and a half. And his duties didn't even resemble those of other employees... of _real_ employees. He didn't really know a thing about this work - only that he returned home satisfied, but also dead tired. Would he be able to do it for many, many years...?

"Sorry if my statement offended you," he said quietly.

Etienne shook his head. "It didn't, I just... You're easily overwhelmed by rapture, right?" he said calmly. "When you like something, you're ecstatic at once, right? I suppose it works the other way round, too. While someone else can regard the same situation more objectively."

Josh fell silent again; he wondered how it was possible that the man, whom he didn't really know and who didn't know him, could pass such accurate judgement. Apparently, Josh was much more transparent he'd thought... But it was also true that Etienne was a _psychiatric_ nurse.

"That's true," he replied even more quietly.

"I think that most people are scared of this place," Etienne went back to the initial topic. "Well, I mean 'scared' like in consider it to be a difficult work place: remote and with worsening staff situation. Most people, if they can choose, prefer to work in a big city, in a facility that employs the right number of workers. Here, the balance is so fragile that everything may collapse any moment," he said openly, adding, "I tell you that because you're one of us."

Those words warmed up Josh's hurt heart.

"Nice location isn't unfortunately the most important thing," Etienne went on, "and in this case it means nothing. Apart from that, work in psychiatry _is_ hard, in a way. It's not that anyone is cut out for it; it's not that anyone can bear it. You can't really help it; you either manage or not. However, there are some issues that can be help... formal... practical issues like safety, possibility of further education, sufficient staffing, and, above all, controlled amount of work. If it's not existing, no-one's going to come here on their own will," he said matter-of-factly.

"What about you?" Josh asked. "What makes you stay here?"

"I just feel good. And I still manage the pace. As long as I'm not forced out, I'm going to stick to this place."

"Then, actually, you find that work appealing? And you decided to do it as long as you can?" Josh asked innocently.

"Yeah," Etienne replied, nodding.

"Than, why have you just reproached me for such way of thinking?" Josh demanded.

"For God's sake, I didn't reproach you," the nurse seemed to lose his patience. "You're over-sensitive. I just showed you that some people can think another way."

"Fine," Josh decided to accept the Etienne's version, especially that it was rather reasonable. "In any case, I like it here, and I hope I'll be able to say that one month from now, too," he claimed rather cockily.

"Then it will mean you're cut out for this work."

"After just one month?" Josh was surprised to hear that.

"One month in psychiatry is quite much, especially on an acute ward," Etienne explained. "How are things going with the staff?"

Josh brightened and spared a longer while on talking about how he'd been received on the ward. Well, now he was cautious about not bursting with enthusiasm like before, for he didn't want to expose himself for ironic remarks again - although he didn't believe Etienne say them out of spite. He went on and told about his contacts with the patients, the main reason for his good mood. At the same time, he wondered aloud whether he might seriously taking up clinical psychology, although he should rather wait at least one month. This time Etienne only listened to him, and Josh was mistaken if he counted on some support or encouragement. The nurse only said that he should listen to himself and base his decisions on his own will, not other people's viewpoint.

'I think you could handle that,' Josh suddenly remembered the words he'd been told long, long ago, by the man whose opinion mattered to him the most. Maybe they'd been accompanying him all those years, like a positive sign...? He didn't know.

Did Alain still think that? Did Alain still... think about him?

"Is there a post-box by the station? I have a letter to send," he said quietly.

Etienne nodded. They were already close to the town. Josh asked his companion to tell him more about Sainte-Jeanne, and his request was willingly answered. To tell the truth, there wasn't much worth mentioning here, but Etienne showed him the buildings and described their history: the town hall, the school, the library, the church. Once, Sainte-Jeanne had been only a small village, but its importance had grown with the establishment of the hospital. People willing to work in the facility had started to come here, and the settlement had expanded and been promoted to town. Construction of the railway line, which had taken place quite soon after the sanatorium had been opened, also must have contributed to that.

As they moved along, Josh realized that the best time of the town had been already gone; many tenements required a decent renovation, as did the pavements. However, people on the streets seemed happy, amongst them young ones and children, which bode well for the future.

They stopped by the station, where Josh sent his letter - the post-box was emptied daily, which pleased him - and then drove up to a small restaurant.

"It's good to taste some fine cooking once in a while," Etienne said, taking out the keys. "I'm sick of that hospital food already."

Getting out, Josh looked at him askance. "But the canteen is closed at nights," he remarked casually. "Once in a while, sure... I bet you're a regular here."

The nurse grinned, shutting the car door. They entered the restaurant, which made a very nice impression and wasn't crowded yet. As Josh had anticipated, his companion was welcomed like a good friend.

"What's new, Etienne?" came from the older man standing behind the bar, who radiated such self-confidence that he couldn't be anyone else but the owner. "Everyone's healthy?" he asked and chuckled, clearly satisfied from his joke.

"There are no healthy people; there are only undiagnosed ones," Etienne muttered and turned to Josh in order to introduce him. "This is Joshua. He's going to work one month in our place. He arrived on Wednesday."

"Good luck!" the man waved at Josh and then observed him for a moment before looking at Etienne again. "Let's hope your sisters won't be left with broken hearts. And your patients," he murmured and returned to the kitchen, but the clients had heard him and snorted.

Josh pressed his lips together and said nothing. Etienne guided him to the table by the window with the geranium. Josh took his place and fixed his eyes on the tablecloth. He felt offended - and, for some reason, embarrassed. His good mood had already vanished.

"Hey, don't bother yourself with what Rene said," the nurse had probably understand the reason behind his sudden silence.

"Madame Montagne said the same," Josh uttered, clasping his hands under the table, aware he shouldn't sulk at this age.

"As for Madame Montagne, you should bother yourself even less," Etienne added lightly. "She says that to every male person taking up employment in Sainte-Jeanne."

Josh looked up at him with hope. "Does she?"

"That's what I heard," Etienne shrugged.

Josh blinked.

"At least to those good-looking," his companion qualified. "I never heard that from her, personally. Apparently she didn't consider me to be any threat..." He winced and rubbed his chin. "Some years ago, we had some scandal here, a male nurse seduced... had an affair with a female patient... No, it must have happened even longer ago. I've been working here for ten years; that must have occurred earlier." He knitted his brows and mused.

Josh felt lighter at heart, a bit. Now he remembered that Madame had asked him whether he was familiar with some man... whose name he couldn't recollect. Maybe she had been referring to that scoundrel? That was probably so. Phew, good he learned what it was all about... "So that's why?" he asked with a relief.

"Yes. Such things shouldn't happen," Etienne said. "Though we too are only human beings... Madame just wants to better be safe than sorry."

"Well, I told her I am in a relationship and not into flirting with the patients," Josh replied, although he quickly realized it might provoke some questions he didn't feel like answering.

The nurse, however, only nodded and decided, "That's good."

"Yet, it's nothing pleasant to hear such a comment from an outsider." He still felt hurt by the greeting the owner had given him. "It's not like I can change my face. I mean..." He paused and blushed; such statement indicated he was a very conceited person, while it wasn't true, at least not in his own opinion. Etienne already cast him an amused look.

He was spared additional troubles when a waiter arrive to hand them the menu and recommended the dish of the day. Josh didn't want to appear picky, so he ordered that dish, and Etienne had the same. They didn't wait long, and the meal was brought with two glasses of wine. Etienne assured him he didn't intend to drink and drive, for he planned to visit the supermarket after the meal.

"You study psychology, right?" the nurse asked as they started eating. "Why, actually?"

"Someone suggested it to me once, and then I decided myself it was an interesting thing. In the end..."

They became immersed in the conversation.

* * *

Josh spent that afternoon very nicely. Food was tasty, and wine was acceptable, but it was the conversation with Etienne that he enjoyed the most, mostly because the experienced nurse didn't look down on him, only willingly shared his observation with him, as well as gave some useful hints for the patient work. Also, he told lots of funny anecdotes about the hospital, making Josh (who'd taken liking to his sense of humour, occasionally pretty acrid) laugh out loud. (Well, it was impossible not to laugh, for example, at one Italian tourist group that once had arrived with their coach at the hospital, in the middle of the summer night, to ask whether it had been that famous resort Saint-Jean). Etienne proved him that working in psychiatry couldn't be done when one was dead serious about it, otherwise no sentient person wouldn't stand it. Humour helped relieve the tension, make sadness lighter, and alleviate bitterness caused by every contact with those peculiar, often incurably ill people.

During the next two weeks Josh learned how to do it. He learned to appreciate the presence of male and female 'Jesuses' and other 'Messiahs', for there was something very invigorating in working with them. He learned to derive pleasure from the presence of euphoric maniacs, for no-one loved the world more than they or could build others up. He learned to laugh naturally and gently when a patient, after one month of treatment, upon the suggestion that it was high time to go home, for he didn't want to spend his whole life in a psychiatric hospital, said with terror, "Then this is a _psychiatric_ hospital?" He learned to treat gallantly the patient staying in a telepathic contact with her husband - an Arab sheik - and rehearsing in details the long-distance conversations she had with him. He learned to politely refuse the proposal of marriage, as well as less decent ones, made by some patients. He learned to remain friendly sceptical about supernatural powers some manifested...

Of course, psychotic patients could be difficult, especially those with acute symptoms, but he was rarely allowed near them. Still, he felt helpless, being a witness of their attempts to escape, always doomed to failure; listening to their fears of non-existent persecutors and desperate screams; trying to convince them that no-one was going to hurt them here, in vain. It was a real comfort that such acute conditions used to recede quite fast, along with that nearly palpable suffering that couldn't be managed in any other way than medication. However, sometimes the symptoms - hallucinations and delusions - persisted, even though anxiety was significantly diminished, and the general level of functioning improved. Those patients kept believing that they were messengers of God or extraterrestrial creatures and had been given a mission to speak of the truth about the salvation or annihilation of humanity; or, during their walks, tried to convince Josh that they were being watched by someone who stayed invisible behind the trees.

Yet in general, what surprised him, patients with schizophrenia didn't seem to be particularly unhappy. Maybe it resulted from their lack of insight, he didn't know. In a way, they were endearing, and often much more polite than healthy people. Some were innocent like children and filled Josh with a feeling of protectiveness. Something about them evoked a deep compassion - maybe the fact they were often objects of groundless intolerance and rejection, and Josh had always been pretty sensitive to those matters. Each of them had their own story to tell, every one being fascinating - and always different. Josh listened to them with openness, understanding, sometimes even terror - and never had enough. He was a good hearer, although it didn't mean that every patients was happy to talk to him; there were some who wouldn't speak to anyone and seemed to live in another realm, as well as those who didn't really need another person to have a conversation...

Patient with depressive disorder were quite another group; they provoked him to much mixed feelings. To psychotic patients, Josh related with unconditional sympathy and never lost his patience, but working with depressive patients was as satisfying as frustrating. Maybe even more frustrating. And it touched him much, much more. People in severe depression, self-mutilating, and those after suicide attempts. It was a heterogeneous group - with old and young, men and women - yet their stories were always equally upsetting. The worst and most terrible was hopelessness, reflected in their words and gestures. Giving up on life. Lack of faith that something good could still happen. Suffering that only death could end.

Josh tried to help them - but he had the awful impression that his words lacked genuineness, and that it was obvious. He tried to talk about hope, life, and faith. He tried to inject optimism. He tried to show that it would be all right. He tried to persuade them to not surrender to despair only try to find a solution. However, it always seemed to him that they could see through him, realize that behind those words was someone who felt exactly like they did. Here and now, in Sainte-Jeanne, he became aware more than ever that he had never really got over his depression; that it was staying deep in him, entangled with his personality to the extent that made it impossible to ever separate them. And he thought, 'What right do I have to tell those people how to feel, if I'm not any better? It's a hypocrisy on my part.' After those meetings, he used to be sad and angry, frustrated and dejected. He would lose any faith in his actions, as well as all his self-confidence, that he hadn't had much of anyway. He would be distressed and couldn't focus. The feeling of failure was so acute it pained him.

Then, however, he tried to look at it from another viewpoint. 'I am just like they are; I lived through what they did. I was in the same place, in the same situation only one year ago. But since then I have experienced many good things and a lot of happiness. Every day proves to me that life is made of light and shadow, joy and sorrow. They don't know it; they see only shadow and sorrow, just like I did last year. They need help to move forward. I have to tell them there are good times ahead. That if they choose life, the chance to be happy will always accompany them. But if they give up on life, maybe they will end the pain, but will never experience any good, for everything will end.' And he would resume talking with new faith and optimism and give his best to assure them that the sun would appear from behind the clouds again, and climbing the hill, even if it required some effort, could provide with an entirely new view.

He knew he would never, as long as he lived, forget those very first patients of him and those meetings that every time turned him inside out, shocked him to the core, and left without any strength. Sometimes he felt like crying and weeping, sometimes he felt like shaking them in order to make them think in another way; sometimes he wanted to pack all of that up and return to Paris, now, the next moment, the same day - and forget about what he'd been through here. Yet he stayed, believing that even the presence of such a wretched person could be of some meaning for those suffering and hurt people, even if they didn't realize it.

There was Constance, woman in her late thirties, who told him she didn't want to live. For many months now, she'd been suffering from various physical symptoms and suspected to be seriously ill, but it only made her happy. She considered herself someone who hadn't achieved anything in her life. She was living alone, had no children nor close friends; people would always, sooner or later, disappear from her life. Her own family treated her as an oddball that couldn't be reached. Her younger sisters, successful both in private and professional life, mocked her and said she could only blame herself for that. Her parents criticised her and showed her no warmth. She had never been good-looking or fashionable, preferring domesticity over clubs and discos. She was well-educated and had a permanent office, yet she derived no pleasure from her work. She had welcomed strange symptoms with indifference and wasn't bothered with them as long as she could function. It was a neurologist that had referred her to a psychiatrist, who then had sent her straight to hospital to be treated. Herself, she doubted any effects - and, even more, any sense - of that treatment. She was of the opinion that her death was the best solution, also for people around her. She didn't believe anyone would shed a tear for her or miss her.

"Have you ever felt you're completely alone and there's no-one you can trust to confide in?" she asked calmly and resignedly, and Josh didn't know how to answer, so he remained silent.

There was Gilles, a boy even younger than he, with sad dark eyes, who had tried to kill himself after a heartbreak. Object of his feelings had been an older woman whom he'd loved with an obsessive admiration. He had written poems, had brought flowers, had adored her in every possible way. He would have done anything for her. The woman had returned his feelings and one night had fallen into his embrace, and Gilled had felt as if he'd gone to Heaven - while, in fact, he'd been taken to Hell. Afterwards, she had never spared him another glance nor spoken to him. She had discarded him like an old glove and had trampled over his feelings until there was only ash left. He'd lost all will to live, for the thought he would be able to trust another person seemed like the greatest abstract under the sun. He showed his healing wrists that would bear those scars for ever, for he'd cut with ferocity, with fury, with final determination, but his older brother had returned home early that day and had found him.

"Have you ever been in love? So much you didn't care about any obstacles, or other people's opinion, about what they might say? So strongly that when that flame were blown out, nothing was left?" Gilles asked with such emptiness in his voice that Josh thought it would take many years of happiness to fill it.

There was thirty years old Mireille, a single mother with an average face and fair locks of hair, whose only child had fell ill and died. She had accompanied him during the long illness, had stayed with him until the very end, always smiling and secretly wiping her tears. She had given her little son all love she'd had, all presence, in order to make him happy, to make him feel safe. When he'd passed away, she'd lost all her will to live. She'd taken all sleeping pills she'd had at home, yet it wasn't been enough; when the next day she'd gone to the doctor for a new prescription, she'd been sent here.

"There is no-one I can live for. No-one for whom I can wake up. I know that he won't smile to me again, and his hands will never grasp my neck. There's no greater pain for a mother than death of her child, even if she had ten of them... and I had only him... my little sweetheart that I would have given anything. Yet he left, and I'm still here. If life should be so cruel, then I don't want it," she cried her suffering out in Josh's office, and he was petrified, facing such torment.

There was fifty years old Hannah, whose husband had left to another woman, without caring about the marriage that had spanned over three decades and children they had brought up together. Hannah had lost much more than her husband, among all feeling of security and self-worth. She'd had no courage to show herself to other people, fearing their mocking comments and degrading looks. Shame had weighted on her and paralysed; uncertainty had taken all her strength. Living in a cage of her remorse and belief she'd been at a fault, had been insufferable. When she'd made her decision, she'd felt relieved. She'd turned the gas on, but the neighbours had alarmed the proper services, and she'd been discovered in her flat.

"Why am I not allowed to do it?" she asked. "Why do you want me to suffer more? What is the point? I won't stand it any longer. You don't know how it is: to feel the least worth... the most wretched person in the world," she assailed him, and Josh couldn't answer.

Their arguments would always hit the nail on the head, and disputing them seemed impossible, at least for Josh. He realized that anything he might say would have no meaning. So he kept silent and hoped for the miracle.

And the miracles happened. Here, in Sainte-Jeanne Hospital, the miracles really happened, all the time - thanks to the medication, surroundings, support, treatment as the whole. Everything. Constance slowly stopped thinking of death and instead thought about what she could do after discharge: she might talk with her parents about their behaviour towards her; she might take a pet, so that getting home wouldn't be so lonely; she might try to meet someone new, a companion to spend time together. Gilles' eyes were no longer so empty, and there was more energy to his gesture. He ate better and no longer stared at his wrists. His face stopped resembling a tragic mask, its features becoming smoother. He seemed to see more of the world again and feel interested in life anew. Mireille and Hannah found one another - two lonely women who needed to see that they weren't the only suffering people in the world, only there was someone else so very close who needed as much help and comfort: a friendly smile and a stretched hand.

Josh felt it was happening just like that - and the credit didn't really go to anyone. Maybe it was an instinct to survive, present in every person; that constant aiming at homoeostasis, able to overcome the most difficult trial. Objectively speaking, nothing had changed in those people's existence, and their problems were still there - yet they seemed to have more strength and will to cope with them, to face them. When they left the hospital, one by one, in order to return to life again, Josh felt elation that had been unknown to him before. They certainly had yet to fight many battles, but for him they already were the victors. They set a good example, and they gave him motivation, so that he could go to another people in need... They strengthened his sense of purpose and brought confidence to the words that he could say to another sufferers.

* * *

It had been two weeks since Josh's coming to Sainte-Jeanne, and June had already started. On one hand, the time had flown by; on the other hand, it seemed to him he'd been here much longer, for every day has been very intense so far. The fine weather continued, although, fortunately, it had rained, too; it was only desirable during such heat. Every time it was possible, Josh tried to take the patients outside, to the park, so that they had some change after staying on a close ward for so long, sometimes many weeks. They would walk in the shadow of the trees or, if a patient didn't feel strong enough, would simply sit down on the nearest bench and talk.

Today Josh was accompanied by Gilles, who two days ago had got a permission to go out with assistance. His discharge was coming near, and Dr Lenard was currently arranging him a place in the university hospital. They were supposed to handle his left palm, that remained somewhat paralytic due to the injury, and improve its functioning; it might need another operation to reconstruct the damaged tendons. Gilles viewed such a prospect calmly; he wanted to use his hand again and was ready to work on it. Josh talked with him every day, and this week it would always happen outside.

They were walking amongst the great trees, and Gilles' eyes - like they used during every walk - absorbed everything around as if he were seeing the world for the first time in his life. He stared at broad trunks and vividly green leaves, overgrown bushes here and there, wild flowers in the high grass... It seemed that he considered dandelions and buttercups, daisies and yarrows, lilies-of-the-valley and forget-me-nots as the greatest wonders of nature, while magpies and sparrows flying amongst the tops deserved his deep admiration.

"How are you feeling?" Josh asked like he used to, although in Gilles' case the improvement was obvious.

Gilles didn't take his eyes off a squirrel running on the branches of the old beech. "I want to leave here," he replied. "I've spent over a month here... And now I regret every day, every hour I have to be here. How am I feeling? Good. I think I've never felt so good before."

"How is your hand?"

The young man raised his left arm and tried to flex his fingers, but he succeeded only with two of them and not completely. The wounds on his wrist had almost healed, but he didn't give them much attention. "Like this."

"I'm sure they'll do something about that," Josh said, trying to comfort him. "I didn't ask you... Do you play music?"

"No. Though now I feel I'd like to try everything... Even those things that I wasn't interested before. Maybe I'll take some music lessons."

"It would motivate you extra to rehabilitation," Josh suggested carefully. "Well, everything that requires using hands will do, actually."

Gilles remained silent, staring at his wrist. "It was so stupid... Completely pointless," he said after a while. "Because of some woman..." He paused, and his lips began to tremble. He wiped his eyes with a sleeve and continued walking with his gaze fixed ahead, and Josh allowed him that silence.

"It is how life is..." he finally stated in a gentle voice. "Things just won't happen like we want them to; the first love is often the case. Sometimes you have to wait before you find that right person." He remembered Cecile had said something so wise, long ago... although right away she had added some biting remark. "You shouldn't give up, only try again."

"For now... I lost any interest in love," Gilles uttered, and there was clear disgust to his words. He shook his head, making his long hair wave in the air. "I had better occupy myself with something more sensible. I thought about going to the university. I won't make it now, but they should have another recruitment in the late summer..."

Josh decided to let the emotional topic alone. It was obvious that it was a very painful matter for the boy, and it would take a while until he managed to relate to it calmly. Such wounds healed much longer than those made by a tool; hopefully, contrary to the latter, they wouldn't leave permanent marks. He decided it was a good thing that Gilles thought about his future.

"Are you considering any special field?" he asked.

"No, not yet, but I'll think of something," Gilles replied brightly. "I only know that I don't want to go back to my home town."

"Do you have any points of interest? Something you'd like to do professionally?" Josh suggested.

Gilles mused over that. "Maybe literature, I don't really know... I'll think of something," he repeated, and it seemed the matter didn't bother him much. "There are so many things I could do. For now, I'm happy to be outside again... marvel at the nature. I feel... free. As if I got out of some cage... left some dark place where everything restricted me. Only now I feel I'm alive. I feel it with my whole body."

"And you... no longer think of death?" Josh asked in the most natural voice.

"No, not at all," Gilles answered casually, shaking his head. "That... seems like a nightmare. And I finally woke up. I don't know how I could be so stupid and try something like that. Now I feel like a fool."

Josh gave him a sympathetic look. "Well, you shouldn't," he objected. "Try to be kind to yourself. You suffered so much you didn't see any other way out... any way to bear that pain. When a person is in a difficult situation, he can make decisions he might have never made in another, better circumstances. It's very human. Suffering often obscures rational thinking..." His thought flew back to the event from one year ago and the incident with the church tower. Yes, he knew perfectly well what he said, and he did understand Gilles. "What matters the most is that everything ended well. And you can learn from your experience."

The boy nodded, his eyes following a colourful butterfly that slowly flew over the path towards the cluster of flowers nearby. "That's true."

"I think that the most important thing is to move forward," Josh went on. "We can't change our past... what we've done so far. We can only learn from our mistakes, don't you think?"

"Yes, I agree," Gilles said. "Don't you know how long I am going to stay here?" he changed the subject for more urgent, or maybe Josh's talking annoyed him already.

"I don't. It's Dr Lenard who decides about it. Well, he is certainly going to talk with you before that... Actually, don't you have the appointment tomorrow?"

"No idea."

"I think I heard something like that..." Josh said with hesitation. "In any case, he is very contended with your recovery. You may expect to be discharged rather soon." Gilles nodded again. "We _all_ are happy because of your improvement. I heard you'd been in a very severe condition upon coming here. Only two weeks ago, when I met you for the first time, you didn't feel well, you were so depressed, so hopeless... What made you overcome that illness, can you say?" he asked cautiously. "Of course, treatment is important, but it's a person himself that makes a decision about his recovery, deep inside."

The boy folded his arms and walked in silence. "One day I just realized there's still the whole life ahead," he answered in the end. "And that I don't want to spend it in such place. I decided to get out of here. I think it gave me... motivation."

"I see."

"Have you ever thought that I might escape during such a walk?" Gilles asked unexpectedly, casting him a fleeting look.

"And where would you go? It's nearly ten kilometres to the nearest town. Nothing but fields all around," Josh replied with a smile. "You would only become tired. It's better to stay here, where you have a place to sleep and regular meals. Ah, I was about to ask you. What about your appetite?"

"All right. I eat everything I'm offered."

"Sleeping?"

"Good, I think."

"You no longer have those nightmares?"

"No... I can't remember having any recently. I sleep well the whole night."

"Are you refreshed in the morning? Or tired?"

"No, I think I have more and more energy every day," Gilles said, shaking his head. "Sometimes it's hard to stay in one place. I'd like to do something, but it's not possible here..."

"That's true," Josh agreed and looked at his watch. "Ah, it's going to upset you, but we have to go back."

Gilles nodded, and they turned back to the main building. Josh would like to talk with the boy longer - there were more things he'd like to ask about - but the next patients waited for him.

Later, as he was writing down his observation from that day in the medical history, it was with a smile that he recorded his own impressions as well as what he'd heard from the young patient.

 _The patient considers his suicide attempt to be a mistake. He focuses on the future and living; he thinks of starting the university studies. He is interested in his surroundings. He sleeps well, and has a normal appetite. He doesn't feel particularly fatigued. He describes his mood as good._

It corresponded with the general image that Gilles had presented during last week... no, even longer. His improvement seemed stable, and it was true that the whole staff was happy about it. His case gave hope and was a good counterweight for the patients with chronic, incurable psychoses - even though Gilles' suffering was much more difficult to bear. Apparently, there was some balance in psychiatry, and some people could be helped and recover fully - just as it had happened in Alain's case and, Josh didn't doubt it, Gilles'. Sure, no-one could tell about the future, but it concerned all people. Josh knew that depressive disorder was the most common psychiatric ailment... but today the most important was that the episode was over and Gilles' future seemed brighter, above all in his own eyes.

Josh put the pen aside and stared outside the window. Times like now made him feel the most that what he did had sense and that it was worth to try. Moreover, he suspected that in two weeks, when his practice period was over, he would very strongly consider clinical psychology as his path...

In two weeks... What would he do then? Would he decide to stay here longer, for the rest of his holidays? Or would he return to Paris? But... what should he return to? Alain hadn't contacted him... hadn't sent him any message that he would like Josh to return. The letter must have reached the place already... but it was another thing whether Alain had read it. Maybe he hadn't even come back to Paris? Maybe he would never come back again...?

Josh shook his head. Such thinking didn't help anything. Actually, the mood he'd been in during his coming to Sainte-Jeanne - that peculiar calm that everything would be fine - hadn't gone away. He suspected it was that strange belief - that he _didn't want_ to consider as another manifestation of his blindness - had supported him during those last two weeks. That great, satisfying work too, of course... but in reality it had been the very first time without Alain that Josh could endure in such a good mood. He, who believed that life without love was a vegetation and had reacted with depression to every parting so far...

He would think of Alain every day. Even if he focused on the patients, Alain would always stay in his subconsciousness. The post-box would remind of Alain. The pigeon hole he'd got on the ward would remind of Alain. The desk in his office and the bed he slept on would remind of Alain. When he walked amongst the thicket, and the leaves tickled his face, he would remember Alain's kisses. When he took shower, he would remember Alain's touch on his skin.

No, Alain Corail was a part of him - a part of his life - and Josh didn't believe to be ever able to forget him. He missed him terribly. Sometimes he felt like boarding a train and going to Paris, in order to hurl himself in his arms... but the thought that Alain might not been there would stop him. Upon sending that letter, he'd hoped that Alain would contact him. Well, Alain wasn't someone who used to write letters... Still, Josh had hoped for some kind information, anything. But it had been already one week and a half... and it hadn't happened.

No, he didn't want to think everything was over. Not like that. Sure, it would be very _Alainish_ : just disappear. Yet, Josh didn't accept that. He wanted some explanation... but maybe he asked too much.

He sighed. Maybe he should call him again? Alain must have answered _sometimes_? Or maybe he should ask Mrs Corail once more? But she would probably only shower him with more mockery, which would only worsen his mood... But there were no other options. Alain had asked not to look for him, so Josh couldn't go to the police and make a missing person report. Now, it would be peculiar. 'So, when did he go missing?' 'Last month, officer.' Yeah, he could visualize the expression of the policemen...

In fact, he had no other option than returning to Paris - hoping that Alain was there. Safe and sound. Just like always. And everything would be fine.

And, what a shame, that option seemed the most appealing to him. He couldn't explain that calm he'd related to the situation that any other day would have certainly drove him into despair. Maybe he'd really learned something during all those four years of being and not being with Alain?

Or maybe he'd lost his sense of reality and had become delusional?

He rubbed his forehead and mused, yet he wasn't able to come to any new conclusions. Alain would always leave him and then come back. For all those years, Alain _had_ loved him... at least when they had been together - that time in high school and during last years; Josh had no doubt about it. Besides, 'to love' was a relative concept that meant different things to different people; in Alain's case, maybe it was more proper to say that he 'cared' or 'it was important to him'. Josh - and it wasn't about lack of self-criticism - didn't believe that, suddenly and without any reason, Alain would stop caring and it would stop being important to him. For there really was no reason. No matter how he regarded his actions of last month or two, he had done nothing - really, nothing! - that Alain might hate him for. The most probable was that Alain would return and apologize for something that would never occur to Josh in the first place.

Maybe that feeling had been accompanying him during his stay in Sainte-Jeanne. Oh, how he wished it were true! Perhaps it would mean that, first, his intuition was still there, and, second... that he'd really grown up. It had taken him a longer while, but if he was able to analyse things this way - constructive, not destructive - and find rationale behind them, maybe his life would be easier from now on...? If he'd reached the state of understanding that the relationship meant satisfaction of the both parts, not only one, then he'd really made progress.

It was a comforting thought, indeed: that a person's development didn't end with reaching eighteen years of age. Well, he did know that from his studies, yet it was quite another thing to learn it from experience. Life gave its lessons every day; that truism still held. Maybe, if he hadn't had Alain, he would have still dwelt in romantic - and so unrealistic! - beliefs about love, relationship, or being with another person.

Of course, all of that was based on the thought that Alain would come back. But if he didn't? How long would Josh wait for him? Not for ever, right? If Alain had left for good - what then? It wasn't something he could ponder on. Not now. And maybe he didn't have to. Maybe he should decide that, in that case, he would search for Alain - never mind the way, he would do it - and request an explanation. And everything would be concluded...

But the very thinking of it made his chest hurt. It seemed that, even if he had matured a bit, here was his limit, at least for today - and he should accept it. He didn't even feel like imagining that one day he would _be ready_ to say goodbye to Alain.

He looked at the paperwork behind him and took the pen again. It would be good to leave before six, unless he wanted to set some new record. Certainly, Madame Montagne wouldn't be pleased if she learned about his overwork. However, he found it difficult to focus since, aroused by his previous reflection, his main thought was the desire to meet Alain...

* * *

 _Hear my wish, I want out (of here) - Arttu Wiskari, "Tuntematon potilas"_


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**  
 _ **(love is bad, my son)**_

* * *

The atmosphere during the morning report on Friday used to be pretty good. People would be quite tired because of the whole week of work, but also happy due to upcoming weekend and the perspective of getting some rest. One could sense it in somewhat relaxed manner of speech, way of being, smiling... Friday reports were simply not so official. Josh could understand that, although himself he would appear on the ward on Saturday as well - but his situation was different, and his enthusiasm for working just wouldn't go away on a holiday. And if he compared that to academic year, he knew perfectly well what Friday meant.

Today, however, when he entered the room, he noticed immediately that the mood was far from cheerful. Strange was already that he saw only Dr Beaufils and two ward sisters; other regular participants were absent. It had never occurred before; the morning report was too important to ignore it. Josh glanced at his watch: it was eight precisely, so something must have held the others. As for the women present, they were sitting with gloomy expressions and didn't speak to each other, while normally they would have more than enough to chatter about.

"Good morning," Josh said but was answered only by vague murmurs.

Something must have happened, he thought, taking his usual place in the back row and putting the notebook on his lap. Probably something on the ward. From time to time, if an aggressive patient was admitted, some incidents might come up, with a member staff getting hurt; afterwards, people were dispirited, upset, and distressed. It was rather hard to get used to such things, even if they happened more or less regularly... Maybe something of that kind had occurred last night, too. What a pity, with weekend coming and all... Josh hoped it was nothing serious. Not so long ago a nurse had been punched in the face and was currently away on sick leave; fortunately, his injuries weren't grave.

Morning sun was pleasantly warming his back. The day promised to be as beautiful as all previous ones, but after a few minutes Josh started to give in to the dark atmosphere. He probably should ask what had happened... but just as he came to that conclusion, the steps could be heard, and then in the doorway appeared Dr Lenard, Madame Montagne and the ward sister of the acute ward. All of them were clearly crestfallen - although in Madame's case that stern expression was normal. They didn't sit down only kept standing, as if they were about to announce something. It didn't bode well. Josh realized he became more and more nervous, although he had no idea what he should prepare for...

"I guess all of you have already heard..." Dr Lenard started without further ado, not looking anyone in the eye; his voice was dangerously indifferent, devoid of any emotion. "One of our patients... Gilles Vigier, who was treated on the acute ward due to severe depression, yesterday... when being transported to another facility... committed suicide."

Josh felt he was getting terribly cold... and, it the same time, it seemed to him he were somewhere else, separated from other people by a thick glass. He stared at Dr Lenard and tried to find some sense in what the man had just said and what his own mind didn't want to accept. Didn't grasp. It couldn't be possible... it couldn't be happening, couldn't be true... The impression was so unreal it must have been a dream. Yes, he was still sleeping in his own bed; he had yet to get up and go for a report; surely he had...

"It shouldn't have happened," Dr Lenard was speaking, though, his every word ringing in the unnatural silence filling the room. "We thought he felt better already... was recovering. I decided he could continue treatment in another place and sent him for rehabilitation," now there was more emotions in his voice... sorrow, dejection, displeasure. "We should have kept him here longer, but... we wrongly assessed his condition."

Josh stirred when his mind - after the initial shock - resumed functioning again. All of the sudden, thoughts flowed fast - he couldn't control them, and every one made him feel an unpleasant pang in his chest. His heart was pounding painfully, as if he were running... running away from something.

'We wrongly assessed his condition.' Who'd assessed? Who'd been talking with Gilles every day? Who'd been filling his medical record? Who'd been painting a positive picture of his medical state for over a week? Who'd been convincing the doctors about things improving... about Gilles recovering and thinking of life again? Who'd...

"It's my fault," he whispered, feeling all blood rush away from his head. "If I hadn't written all of that..."

The nurses sitting before him turned around, as did Dr Beaufils, who shook her head, her gaze so understanding, so sympathetic... Yet, now those people seemed complete strangers to him, with nothing connecting them to him. He felt dizzy. He fixed his terrified eyes on Dr Lenard, who was staring at him with a frown.

"Of course not," the man said. "No-one is at fault. Or all of us are. I am the most, for I was responsible for his treatment," he added in a lower voice and looked down.

Josh, however, heard him like from afar. Only now he started to comprehend what had happened. Gilles... was dead. Gilles, whom he'd seen only yesterday. Who'd been ready to leave the hospital. Who'd been feeling well. Who'd been enjoying life and thinking of his future. Who'd been seeing the world around him and could marvel at its beauty. Who'd overcome his depression.

Something made his throat clench.

Had overcome depression? How could Josh have believed that? He should have known better that depression couldn't be overcome. It might stick to the person for ever, follow him everywhere, only sometimes hide... disappear from the sight for a moment. Attack whenever one became less vigilant. Return when one managed to forget about it. How could he have imagined Gilles, whose life had crumbled... to be able to recover from it so quickly...? How could _he_ have thought that way... have been convinced of it? He should have know better... then why he hadn't?

"But... I was sure he was better..." he uttered, as if he wanted to defend himself... from the doctor, from the nurses... from himself, in the first place.

His chin began to tremble, so he clenched his jaw. Suddenly he knew he would lose control of himself any moment... while it shouldn't take place. Not here... not with those people... although he could no longer really see them. It was bad, he wouldn't be able to check himself... and would make a scene... He felt like crying and screaming. He wanted to jump up to his feet and run away from here. The notebook fell from his lap, but he didn't even notice. He clenched his fists and felt the fingernails digging into his palms. His teeth were chattering... and some dreadful feeling tried to burst his chest.

"Mr Or, will you please come with me," Madame Montagne's clear voice was to be heard.

He looked up at her, not really seeing anything through his tears. "I-" he choked, although he didn't know what he wanted to say.

"Mr Or, will you please come with me," Madame repeated in the same firm tone, fixing her slate-blue eyes on him. Her eyes seemed the only sharp point in the blurry scenery.

He couldn't object. Actually, he didn't want to; he needed someone's presence... her presence. Yet some part of him wished to be alone, to flee, never see anyone again, never meet anyone again, only run forwards and yell. And some other part demanded to be punished, to atone for the wrong he'd brought about... or just deaden that feeling of guilt, wrenching his insides.

He got up automatically and followed Madame, blinded by tears. In fact, he didn't want so see anything... hearing and feeling was enough. The dark corridor, then sunlight of the June morning, then again shade of another building and creaking of the floor. The door being slammed when they were already in her office.

"Be seated," Madame commanded in a voice allowing no objection, so he sat down on the old-fashioned couch by the wall, wishing he could shrink... disappear completely. "What it is you want to tell me?" she said sternly, and Josh wondered what it could be and whether he really wanted to say anything.

He stared at her in a sudden fear, filled with chill of rejection and that almost palpable hostility. How could he have ever considered her a warm person? How could he have desired her presence? There was nothing kind in her... And now that he needed... What, actually? Support? Comfort? But he only deserved condemnation. How foolish on his part to expect something else than hatred. No wonder she was standing there, menacing and towering - as if she wanted to tread him into the ground, reduce him to dust, cast him into the abyss of despair, tear down the wall protecting him, and kill the last of strength in him. No wonder she was looking at him with contempt...

With contempt?

He squinted to see better, although everything kept getting blurred... Pale oval of her face, lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes... And then he could no longer hold back; he broke down and cried. He cringed and buried his face in his hands, futilely trying to cover his shame... Her gaze... he just couldn't defend himself from it...

Without a word, she sat down next to him and put her arms around his shoulders. He was sobbing miserably, unable to contain himself. He was crying out his sorrow, shock, tension, fear, guilt, bitterness, failure, and realization he couldn't turn back the time. Despair was tearing his body apart and flowing out with his tears, but it wouldn't diminish... not in the slightest. On the contrary, he felt worse and worse with every passing moment. His head was humming, and it ached even more. His throat was sore, every breath hurting his windpipe and lungs. But he didn't deserve any better, he should suffer...

Finally, he had no strength to cry. He kept sitting like that, cringed and with his irritated eye-lids shut tight, and wondered whether he would be able to think again. It seemed impossible... He felt as if he'd been ground in a mill, incapable of any effort. Maybe it was better this way, actually...

Madame took back her arms but was still sitting next to him, so the feeling of loneliness wasn't so strong. "It's the dark side of our work," he heard her calm voice. "I'm sorry that you were forced to learn it so quickly," she said compassionately. "Yet it has already happened, and we can't do a thing about it, although realising it won't make us feel better just like that. So cry, as much as you need. You're not the only person crying in this hospital today... And that's the right thing, for heartless people shouldn't work here."

Josh tried to focus on her words. Certainly, she was right, and others were depressed, too, but... did it change anything in his situation?

"Your sorrow is understandable," Madame kept talking, "so give it some space. However, I'd like you to stop talking about any guilt," she said warningly. "Just like Dr Lenard said, maybe all of us are to be blame, or maybe no-one... Still, you bear no responsibility for Gilles Vigier's death. None," she emphasized. "If you really need to regard the matter that way, it is Dr Lenard who bears responsibility... although I'm perfectly sure that he acted upon his best knowledge. It is always doctor in charge responsible for the treatment process, certainly not a student."

Involuntarily, Josh remembered the man's drawn face during the meeting and thought that Dr Lenard hadn't deserved that. Although it was quite hard to grasp in that flood of emotions... and numbness that crying had brought along, he felt a pang of regret - for having started talking about the guilt... The psychiatrist must have been very upset, probably more than he. And yet Josh hadn't thought of it, only began to hurl accusation - directed at himself, but still. It was so egoistic... and so unnecessary, he shouldn't have done this...

But Gilles...! His heart clenched with pain once more, and his eyes stung again. He would never forgive himself. Never.

Madame seemed to read his mind. "I'm going to tell you one thing that you're probably not aware of," she proposed, although, in her case, it was simply announcing her intention. "It is _Gilles_ who made a decision. Maybe yesterday, maybe a week or two ago. Of course, maybe his death might be prevented if we had continued his treatment... but it is also possible that nothing would have changed even if we had kept him here one month or a year. He made his decision, and perhaps nothing would have dissuaded him from executing it... just like it happened. He would have done... he did everything to carry out his will. You may bear a grudge against him... you may feel you were deceived... but don't take it personally, for he didn't do it to hurt you," Madame explained.

Grudge? How could Josh bear a grudge against someone who was already dead? It was Gilles who was the only victim here... it was Gilles who'd paid the highest price. How could anyone put blame on him? It was them who had failed him, even though they should have helped him. He sniffed.

"Such patients are rare, and that's why I regret it that you had to experience this situation during your stay here..." Madame repeated. "That you had to learn, so quickly that we're not infallible either... to realize that we can lose, too. Psychiatry isn't as easy as surgery, where you only have to open the belly and remove the appendix to save a person's life. Here, we work with human mind that we cannot see. Even if we scan a brain, we won't be able to know what it's owner thinks. We can only believe their words... or not believe. Sometimes, we just have to be careful... identify those we have to be vigilant with. It comes with time and experience, but sometimes we fail regardless... we are defeated by a patient, by his illness, by his mind... although they are never our enemies, rather respected rivals."

Josh tried to find some sense in her words but couldn't. Dr Lenard had said himself, 'We wrongly assessed his condition. We should have kept him here longer and continued his treatment.' If Gilles had stayed in hospital, he would have surely stopped thinking of death. Or - if he'd done what he'd done on impulse - he would have improved to such a state that he wouldn't have made an attempt on his life by the first mood drop... by the first adversity. He would have strengthened psychically. Then, why was Madame saying such things? After all, why did the psychiatric hospital exist if not for locking up those who had gone nuts and couldn't answer for themselves and keeping them there as long as they improved?

However, Madame obviously regarded it in a different way... Madame, who had been working in psychiatry for forty years. Why did he try to argue with her? Why didn't he want to accept those words of comfort she was offering him? Oh, but he knew why - his feeling of guilt was so strong, so absolute that it didn't allow any comfort. It didn't allow any excuse.

"People have freedom of choice," Madame declared when he kept silent. "Sometimes we can only accept those choices, even though we don't agree with them and even if they are painful. We mustn't shoulder responsibility for every thing, for every person. No-one could live like this," she added matter-of-factly. "However, what we can is to learn from experience... from hard experience just like this one... even if it sounds cynical. Learn from that and move forward. I apologize for talking to you like to a child, but I want you to know that... If you haven't known so far, then just spare it one thought," she requested and then asked, "Tell me, what do you want to do now?"

Josh couldn't answer, for his throat was still clenched. Besides... he felt like sleeping, in the first place. Thinking of what he would do in one hour - to say nothing of next day or week - seemed repulsive. He just wanted to close his eyes, recede from all that, not think of anything... not feel anything. Madame, however, awaited his answer, so he shook his head.

"In that case, I'll tell you my thoughts," she said; it could what she'd intended to right from the start. "You should take a break. You wanted to go to Idealo, didn't you? In this situation, it seems the best solution. You need a change of scenery, if only for a short while. It will be too hard to stay here for the next few days. There's no point in tormenting yourself like that."

She got up and approached the window, putting her hands back. The floor squeaked under her feet.

"I am aware of your overtime," she said. "And Saturdays. Because of them, you can take three days off. I suggest that you travel to Esperanto. In any case, don't show up in work until Thursday," she added sternly. "Use that time in a pleasant way. Visit your relatives... And think if you want to return to this place." She turned to him, and her voice became gentle again. "Such event is a shock to anyone, even an experienced worker, so I wouldn't be surprised if you became averse to psychiatry for the rest of your life," she stated frankly. "In that case, we will have to respect that. However, let me add that people here took liking to you and really appreciate your work."

Finally, Josh raised his head and looked at her, squinting in the sunlight surrounding her frame. Liked and appreciated? He wished he could believe that... maybe yesterday he would still have... but not today. Now, _he_ wasn't able to like and appreciate himself, so how could others...? He stared at his hands again; he'd been clenching them for a longer while now, and his knuckles were completely white. He stretched his fingers, but they began to tremble again. Another sob shook his body. It seemed to him he would do nothing but cry from now on.

The steps squeaked again on the wooden floor, and then he heard Madame talking on the phone, although the humming in his head allowed him to grasp only single words, "... one package... ten... yes, to my office... thank you..."

He tried to contain himself, but it was impossible. That pain in his chest just wouldn't ease; that despair just wouldn't go. Realization that what had happened couldn't be undone, was choking and crushing him. He still felt as if he had killed a man... taken the life that so much good might have yet happened in. Everything that Madame had said... He understand that with his reason, but on the emotional level was only chaos... and it was the emotions seizing him firmly now. He would never see Gilles again, talk to him... He would probably have never met him again anyway, but there still had been _a chance_... and now it was utterly impossible. Infeasible. Unrealisable.

Suddenly he became aware it was the first time in his adult life that he'd encountered death. Years ago he'd lost his grandfather... He'd managed to forget how terrible experience it had been - and now he'd been reminded of it fully. Grandfather had died long ago, old and ill... and Josh had accepted his passing, even though he'd been his only relative, his only family... But Gilles' death seemed so... pointless, so gratuitous. His grandfather's death had been a tragedy for Josh, but he couldn't resist the impression that Gilles' death was a tragedy for the whole world. How could they have allowed that? Another sob seemed to tear his lungs and bronchial tubes apart.

A knocking could be heard, and the nurse from the ward appeared in the doorway. Madame took something from her and sent her back. Then she poured a glass of water and came to Josh, who could see only her feet in grey shoes. She gave him the glass and asked him to stretch his other hand. When he complied, a single pill fell on his palm.

"It's a tranquillizer," she explained. "You need it now. Don't worry, it will do you no harm. Now, take it. I'm going to escort you to your flat."

Josh stared at the blue tablet before taking it to his mouth and washing down. Then he brushed his hair from his face and wiped his eyes. He supposed he looked terrible... but he didn't care about it in the slightest.

Madame put the glass on the washbasin and opened the door. "Let's go," she encouraged.

Soon, they were walking through the park towards the staff quarters. Josh wondered how it could still be a day. How the sun could shine, and the flowers bloom. How the squirrels could jump over the branches, and the birds sing. He thought that everything around should grieve... mourn for Gilles, who could never see that beauty again...

Admiring it was a crime; he lowered his head. It was better to look at the dusty path, with only a hem of a skirt and legs in tights taking peaceful, even steps in his sight... although he couldn't see clearly, for momentarily the world got blurred. He tried to focus, tried to remember Gilles...

"Madame... How did he...?" he uttered with his eyes fixed on the grey dust under his feet.

For a longer while, he could hear only shuffling; he wasn't able to properly lift his legs... When she spoke, her voice was calm and almost indifferent. Almost cold. "When they were in the town, he told the driver he wanted to buy himself something to drink during the ride," she said quietly yet clearly. "The day was hot, and they had quite a distance to travel, so his request was sensible. The driver had no reason to decline and let him go to the shop next to the station. He didn't suspect anything, but then... Gilles ran under the approaching train."

Josh felt sick - even more than before.

Something like that had happened yesterday, in the afternoon. Here, in this town, not so far from the hospital itself... And he'd had no idea. He'd spent the rest of the day in the park, enjoying the fine weather... the rest in the open... He'd gone to sleep a happy man. Today he thought he would never be happy again. Ignorance was a bliss; now he understood perfectly well why some people believed that. He'd like to turn back the time, he wished it to be yesterday... No, he wished that yesterday had never happened.

"Madame... Why did he do it? He felt better already... he nearly recovered fully...?" he whispered, unable to to overcome his weakness.

Now he heard no reply; apparently, sometimes even she had none. Then he remembered what she'd said earlier: that Gilles had made his decision. And what Dr Lenard had said: that Gilled hadn't recovered.

He felt dizzy; he thought he would trip any moment. He staggered, but a strong arm supported him. "It's a side-effect of the medication," Madame said, her voice coming from afar. "But we're already here. Will you be able to climb the stairs?"

"Yes," he affirmed, although his head grew heavier and heavier... but, at the same time, he felt strangely light, so stairs weren't a challenge.

Somehow, he managed to get to his room and lay down. The bed had never seemed so inviting. He remembered he'd used to sleep after taking a sedative before. "I'm going to fall asleep," he informed in a weak voice.

"That's good," Madame replied calmly somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, but he wasn't sure whether he could still hear her.

He couldn't keep his eyes open any more, but simultaneously he was under the impression that his all anxiety... all pain had left. For a longer while, he hadn't experienced that regret... that sorrow squeezing his insides. He felt comforted, consoled. Even his heart slowed down, and his breathing became even. He relaxed; his muscles weren't so tensed. It was a good feeling. He thought he could hear ten strokes... Right, someone on this floor had an old clock, he thought with the latest effort of concentration. He'd spent nearly two hours crying... but he no longer cried. There was no need for that. Everything had receded, and only calm was left.

Calm.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, already falling asleep.

"You don't have to be," he heard the answer and then ceased perceiving the sounds.

* * *

He was waking slowly. At first, it seemed to him... he was regaining consciousness after Alain's assault... But it didn't fit; that one had happened at night, and now it was bright in the room. And it wasn't Paris, only quite another - unfamiliar? - place. No, that one had happened earlier, in late April... And Alain had already recovered. Now was beginning of June, summertime... He was far from Paris, in the south, in Sainte-Jeanne. But why had he been asleep during the day?

He turned his head, his eyes moving over the ceiling, the window and the walls, to see a white box with a top on the bedside table along with a glass of water. He frowned, reading the name on the sticker. Diazepam. A sedative. By no means not his. Why was it here? Why... had he used it? Now he knew he had; it explained why he'd been asleep. He looked at the watch; it was past three. He should be at work. Today was... Friday, wasn't it?

He felt a pang in his chest. He already knew something had happened. Friday, he should be at work... But... he _had_ been. He'd left in the morning, he remembered now. He'd even wondered what to do in order to excuse himself from the staff meeting, for - which was very impolite and unfair on his part - those Friday complains of the nurses used to depress him... and he'd rather not participate in it third time in a row. Why did he have the impression that today there would be even more complaining...?

He lay down and covered his face with one arm, trying to gather his thought and reconstruct the events of the day.

He'd left in the morning, a quarter to eight, like always... He'd attended the morning report... He couldn't remember anything else than the morning report... But, actually, he didn't remember it either. As if he hadn't really been there, as if he'd left right away... with someone else... he'd left with Madame Montagne.

Madame had brought him here later. What was it that they'd been talking about? What had happened that had made his mind - like many times before, now he finally realised that - try to deny it? His heart accelerated, he felt that warning pang in his chest again, but he had to remember. The week that was coming to its end... Everything had been all right. Recently, everything had been all right in Sainte-Jeanne. His practice period had been passing without any problem, filling him with joy and satisfaction. The patients had been recovering and leaving the hospital.

No...!

He bit his lips to stop the screaming but couldn't hold back sobbing, that shook his body. He curled up on the bed and pressed his eye-lids tight. Hadn't he cried enough today? But his body obviously didn't care about that... or maybe there was no limit of tears... of despair...

Gilles...! Oh, poor Gilles...

The guilt weighed on him again. Why... why hadn't he realized? Why had he taken the boy's words at face value and believed everything? Why hadn't he been even slightly sceptical? Why hadn't he asked more, deeper? Why had he been happy with what had satisfied him... had satisfied everyone? Well, Dr Lenard must have done the same... but was that any consolation? Gilles couldn't be brought back to life.

Why was Josh so completely hopeless in everything he did? Why did he harm everyone around him? He couldn't take care of anyone - quite the contrary, things always went bad. What had he believed? That he would be a great psychologist? That he would be able to help others? Ludicrous. And so thoughtless. For two weeks, everything had been fine, so he'd believed that he would manage... And then a disaster had happened. Madame Montagne had said that it happened rarely... Then, what did it prove when it had happened _right now_ when Josh was staying here? And to the patient that Josh had been, more or less, working with?

Josh had already seen himself as a clinical psychologist? Well, now he knew at least that he should be kept away from the psychiatric patients. And from the rest of people, too. How would he be able to look anyone in the eye again?

No wonder that Alain had left him.

He pressed his jaws tight, but the sobbing overcame him again, along with that terrible pain in his chest. He had believed that Alain would come back. And on what basis? There was none. He'd simply decided it. He hadn't wanted to acknowledge any other option. He'd been blind, of course. He'd been lying to himself, all that time. Alain, however, hadn't given him any signs. The last time they had seen each other was... three weeks ago. Sure, three weeks was nothing compared to three years, but Josh no longer considered it relevant. Alain had left. He hadn't wanted to be with him. He hadn't wanted him, had abandoned him and disappear. They had enjoyed being together - yet Alain had left. He hadn't been satisfied. Hadn't felt good. Had wanted to be alone or with someone else - but not with Josh.

He swallowed bitter tears down his clenched throat.

After all that, would Josh be able to believe someone again? To trust someone? Impossible. Then, how would he live? Suspecting everyone around? Always expecting to be rejected or betrayed? No, never... It wouldn't be life, only torment.

But then, what was it now? Now that he was under the impression he was falling to pieces. When every heartbeat was so painful, and every breath was tearing apart his lungs. When there was only one thing on his mind, 'You're not good'...

He wasn't good, to anything. To relationships. To studying. To work. To neighbours. To friendship. He was an unsuccessful man... a defective individual who would always fail and make others sad. Right from the start, for even his parents had abandoned him. Was there a single person whom Josh's existence made happy? For a short while, maybe, yes - but not for long. For a moment, yes, but not for ever. Why was someone like him ever lived in this world? What for? For whom? Without him, other people would certainly feel better.

If he had declined the associate dean's offer... If he had insisted, pleading his lack of knowledge and experience... He would have never come here, would have never met Gilles. And Gilles would have still lived, probably. His treatment would have lasted longer, without those optimistic notes in his medical record, repeated day by day. He was sure of that. And now he had to live with the awareness he had contributed to a man's death - he, who had always strived to act right... for he'd been dead scared to make a mistake. He used to be bothered by his mistakes ten times more than he was happy with his achievements. What was there to be happy if everything went well? It _should_ be well, that was the right way - but his mistakes, errors, lapses... They _shouldn't_ happen. And if they did, he was at fault. He was to be blamed. It was something that couldn't be erased.

Why did it hurt so much? Why was it happening to him? What had he done to suffer so much, to feel such sorrow? He could no longer bear it, he really couldn't, it was too much...

He opened his eyes and looked at the box of medication by the table. Earlier... now he remembered; earlier, that drug had brought him peace. It had made the pain leave... only for a moment, but nonetheless. It had eased his heart, had got rid of his worries, and had given him comfort. He sat up and snatched the plastic container. His hands shaking, he twisted off the top and poured the content on his palm. If he took one more, he would sleep another few hours. And then another. He could sleep the whole week like that. Then, when he waked up, maybe he would feel better. Maybe he would find a way to cope with this situation...

Did he really believe that? Even if he coped with this situation... another would come... and another. So far, his life had been a series of failures and would undoubtedly be that from now on, too. He didn't want to suffer. He didn't want to make others suffer, either.

He stared at the handful of the blue pills. The box was filled in one third... then he had some thirty in his hand. If he took them all... Maybe he wouldn't wake up at all? Maybe everything would _really_ end? Once and for all? Pain, suffering, constant feeling of guilt and remorse, fear to make a mistake, dread of being abandoned again. That constant belief that his life had no worth whatsoever... Maybe he was holding a key... a solution... a way to stop that nightmare. He wouldn't have to feel all those terrible, bad emotions that split his soul every time. Finally, he would be at peace.

Temptation was irresistible.

'People have freedom of choice,' Madame Montagne had said.

He didn't think more. He grabbed the glass and lifted the hand with the pills to his mouth. It was the best way.

Everyone had freedom of choice?

He froze, and his eyes grew wide.

Had Madame really said that? He thought it was only now that he could _understand_ her standpoint, and the meaning of her statement - even though he had already stopped thinking. Yet, his brain wouldn't cease functioning - especially now, in this split moment on the last line with nothing past it... Madame's words were ringing in his head and demanding his attention.

What it was that she'd wanted to tell him? Suddenly it was clear to him. That Gilles had made his decision. That no-one had forced him to do so. That even if everyone around had told him about life, he had chosen death. That even if everyone around had persuaded him against it, showing him the right way... he still had decided to act as he'd seen it fit.

 _Josh wasn't to be blame for it._

No more than others.

Slowly, he took his hand away.

Gilles had had a chance to experience happiness in his life, but he had pushed it away. Would Josh do the same? Would he give up on everything? Or, rather - being so imperfect as he was - he would try to... atone? Would try to not only experience but also do some good?

Or, would he decide on leaving, without seeing Alain again?

He doubled over and wept once more. It wasn't an easy thing to choose life when living meant suffering. Some part of him tempted him to surrender... for there was no point in struggling... and everything would end badly anyway, like always... It was better to take those pills, all of them at once, and never again be forced to feel that pain, that he had already experienced so much that it would be enough for several people...

But Alain's picture under his eye-lids - Alain, who might have left him for ever...! - was stronger.

He had to see him again... He wanted that!

Now, crying was a relief.

He rose up, fighting against dizziness; the world was swaying, yet it had never seemed so stable under his feet. He went to the bathroom, where he flushed the pills in the lavatory and threw the empty box to the bin. His eyes grasped his mirror reflection. He suppressed a sigh and rinsed his face with cold water, more symbolically than actually removing the traces of tears. He changed his shirt that today had served him mostly as a big handkerchief and definitely couldn't be worn amongst people.

It was a quarter to four. In just half an hour a person was able to decide between life and death, he thought with irony and fatigue. And content. And fragile, sweet hope.

After five minutes, he was knocking on the door of Madame's office. The window was open, so she must have been still at work... and besides, someone of her calibre would never leave before due time.

"You don't look well," she said from behind her desk, when he entered; he appreciated her frankness.

"But I feel much better," he replied truthfully. "May I sit down?" he asked, pointing at the chair.

"Please."

Josh fell on the upholstered seat. Running after having used a sedative - even if it happened several hours before - was exhausting... although, at the same time, he felt his inner energy was slowly being replenished. He put the elbows on the desk and looked her in the eye for a longer while before finally opening his mouth.

"Madame... You were right. I thought about what you had said. Thank you," he said seriously and nodded. Then he added, "You saved one life today," and his voice almost didn't waver.

Madame observed him, knitting her brows. Then her face that rarely showed any emotion blushed - due to remorse and guilt. "Then, don't you have anything to say to me?" she asked in her style yet rather quietly.

Josh shrugged. "What is there to tell?" he replied. "That at least for last four years... and probably for all my life... I've been suffering from persistent depression with occasional exacerbations? And that last year I tried to jump from the bell tower of Idealo church? That later I attended a half-year therapy and I somehow improved?" saying that, he couldn't quite look her in the eye, yet he was happy he had confessed that.

"And they sent you to work here despite all that?" she asked and pressed lips in a thin line; her disapproval was obvious.

"I came here myself," he corrected, still averting her gaze. "Besides, it's not something I sound off, so no-one really knew." Then, however, he looked at her again. "Are you... Are you going to tell me to get away, now?" he asked anxious whether she might really do so.

She gave him a scrutinizing look. "What do you think about it?" she asked after a while of reflection.

Apparently, his opinion mattered, and he felt relieved upon learning that. He already knew what he wanted to do. "I... I'd like to stay," he said in a soft voice yet firmly. "I mean... Just as you said, I'd like to visit Esperanto. It's a good idea, for... I don't think I'll be able to return on the ward right away..." He lowered his eyes and gulped before looking up at her again. "But I _want_ to complete this practice here, that one month," he said with emphasis but quickly added hesitantly, "Is that possible?"

She kept staring at him intently. Her face expressed composure again; her hands were calmly clasped at the desk. "Many people working in psychiatry suffer from depression," she answered. "We don't really know the direction of that relationship: is it the work that provokes the symptoms or, rather, it is people prone to the symptoms who are attracted to this work... In any case, it's not a contraindication, as long as illness... as symptoms are under control," she stressed. "If you're of the opinion that you will manage, then there is no reason to send you away. Especially, like I already mentioned, you are of great help. However, if you find the work too burdensome, you had better resign. No-one would hold it against you. Before anything else... remember to _always_ take care of yourself. You won't help anyone if you're not well," she warned. "Well, it applies to every area of living."

Josh shook his head and clasped his fingers. "I will manage," he replied whole-heartedly; he was more and more convinced of it. "I don't know if I'll grow up to be a clinical psychologist... probably not... but I still want to stay here longer. I like it here and... I will manage." He paused, realising he was repeating himself. "Unless... something like that... happens again," he added in a lower voice, fixing his gaze on the dark wood of the desk.

"I think the limit for this year has been used up already," she said with a wry smile that could be heard in her words. "But don't think I don't understand you. Even if no-one is at fault, a man's death always touches those who have spent some time with him. Getting used to it isn't easy. And it's more proper this way."

Josh nodded. His throat clenched again. "I didn't imagine that work... in psychiatry was so hard," he admitted, clamping his fingers.

"But I'm telling you that such things happen very rarely. You just were unlucky," she said lightly, but he knew her enough to realize she was concerned about him.

"I always am," Josh replied quietly but didn't feel like talking about it and, instead, said, "I'm sorry but I can't return you those sedatives... They floated to... to the Rhone, I guess."

"Well, we're not going to fish them out. If there were other alternatives of their use, then they can as well stay there and be happy," she decided, but then her gaze filled with guilt. "I am happy, too," she added in a soft voice. "I shouldn't have left them. I apologize."

Josh shook his head. "How could you know? But... it's your words about freedom of choice that stopped me... so thank you," he replied, looking her directly in the eye. "Like I said, you saved one life today, Madame..." He felt his lips trembling again and clenched his jaws.

"Something good, if nothing else," she muttered. "It's a tragedy to lose one young man already."

Josh wiped his eyes. "Then, am I allowed to leave for a few days?" he asked to make sure.

"I think I suggested that to you myself? Why do you ask me?" she replied with fake harshness; she didn't like to repeat obvious things. "Of course you should go. And visit your family, friends..."

"I have no family," he replied quietly, staring at the wall behind her. "I lived in an orphanage... But I'd like to go to the town that I moved in with my grandfather... with a man who took me in. Go to his grave. He was my only family," he whispered.

"What about Paris?" she asked discerningly.

Josh rubbed his forehead and answered, thoughtful, "In Paris... it's not very good either. Well, at least it wasn't before my departure." He shook his head and focused his eyes on her. "But I'll take care of it later," he added vigorously.

Madame stared at him intently. "It seems to me you're a person that tries to always take care of everything alone," she said in the end, and there wasn't much of respect in her voice.

Josh snorted. "Is it so obvious?" he asked.

"For _me_ , yes," she replied loftily, but then, quite untypical of her, uncertainty flickered in her gaze. "Do you promise me to come back?" she asked, and Josh knew she didn't refer to his returning to work.

He nodded, trying to overcome a sudden lump in his throat. "I promise," he choked.

She looked at her watch. "But you're going to leave tomorrow morning, aren't you?" she suggested. "Today it's too late."

"Yes. I apologize for taking your time, Madame," he got up.

"As long as it's not wasted time, I have nothing against it," she replied seriously.

He smiled, although he realised it was rather a weak smile - but better weak than none at all. Heavy load over his heart had eased a bit. One hour ago he hadn't believed to be able to smile ever again. Now he felt he had regained something important.

"Then, see you again next week, Madame," he said, bowing his head.

"See you. Have a nice trip."

Josh left her office to head for his room at a leisurely pace. There was nothing to hurry to... so he might savour every moment, enjoy it... be happy with his own steps, more and more firm, with hard ground under his feet, warm and clean air as well as sweet fragrance of the flowers... After some time, he was able to raise his head and stare at the sky. The beauty of the world no longer hurt him... even though the last time he had admired it, had been with Gilles.

Gilles had found peace; if nothing else, Josh could console himself with this one belief. He would never experience disappointment, betrayal, contempt, rejection... He would never be forced to look how his love turned against him... He would never feel sad. He would never suffer.

His eyes fixed at the blue skies over his head, Josh prayed, 'Eternal rest grant to them, O Lord.' He believed that Gilles was being in much more firm hands now, under much better care. For ever.

Josh had chosen another way. Maybe he would one day regret his choice and curse himself for having made it - many, many times - but now, today, he decided to stick to it and be glad about it.

He decided to live.

* * *

 _Julia Marcell, "Echo"_


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**  
 _ **(modoritakunai kako no watashi no kurushimi ni)**_

* * *

"Mom! Dad! There's a man outside!"

Hearing that, Josh felt embarrassed. He hadn't planned to be a peeper or some disturber of another people's peace, yet he might be considered one when standing in the gate, almost on someone else's yard... for now it was no longer his yard. Actually, the whole house had changed a lot - the walls had been painted in another colour, tons of flowers were growing in the garden instead of vegetables, the trees nearby were much taller than before, and the plot had been fenced in... Yet, the sight of that house had filled him with emotions so great that, once he'd come here, he just couldn't leave... and thus he was now standing here longer than proper.

"What are you saying?" came from inside, and a woman appeared in the front door, wiping her hands on the apron.

"See yourself!" a boy, who could be five years old, grabbed on her skirt. The same moment, a man went out from behind the corner and gave Josh a stern look.

Josh hoped he wouldn't blush... but maybe he should pretend to be more apologetic he really felt. "I'm sorry! I had no intention to intrude," he rushed to explain, taking one step back. "I just... I used to live here as a child and... I wanted to see that house again when I happened to be nearby... But I'm leaving right away!"

"My... Once you're already here, please, come in," the woman suggested and smiled rather shyly. Her husbands' expression softened a bit, but he still remained somewhat wary around a stranger.

Soon, Josh was sitting in the kitchen, that also served as a living-room, and, with a glass of cold juice in his hand, regarding the very familiar yet greatly changed interior. The boy, who'd been introduced as Michel, five-year-old, was staring at him with his round eyes, half-hidden behind the table. In a cradle, a baby was sleeping, and there was a black cat sitting on a backrest of an armchair. On the floor were colourful runners, while the walls were covered with bright wallpapers. Now that he was here as a guest, the flat still made a nice impression.

Mrs Rubin put a plate of biscuits on the table - one little hand reached to it quickly - and took a place next to her husband. "We wondered about the previous owners," she said. "We bought that house from the commune, but someone must have lived here before. It looked that way..." saying that, she looked questioningly.

"I can't remember that well," Josh replied somewhat apologetically. "I moved out nearly ten years ago... I lived here with my grandfather, but then I moved to Idealo... and grandfather died soon after."

Mr Rubin, who'd managed to give up the stern look and instead had decided to treat the intruder politely, nodded understandingly. "It can be that he didn't name a successor, and thus the house became the commune's property," he suggested. "Forgive me asking... Did your grandfather die suddenly?"

Josh mused. "For me, it was very sudden... but I think he'd been ill for a longer while," he replied in a soft voice. "That's why he sent me to Idealo... to Saint Grollo... He secured my future for seven years. It's possible he sensed it that he wouldn't live much longer."

He left unspoken what had just occurred to him: that grandfather had sold the house to the commune and had allocated the money to Josh's education. How else could he have such an amount? That thought was bitter-sweet; sweet because there was someone who had cared of him so much, and bitter because it filled him with guilt... Did he deserve that?

"You have certainly taken a good care of it," he said to banish such a reflection.

"It was in a great condition when we bought it," Mr Rubin replied. "Your grandfather knew how to manage a household."

"That's true," Josh nodded. "He always did all repairs and replacements himself."

For a moment, he became immersed in the memories of all those years he'd spent here... How many they were? Seven? Eight? So many memories... filled with sense of peace and security, above all. And happiness, now he could understand it. Despite being an orphan without any family... a stranger, Joel Or, had created a home for him, a home where Josh had been happy. Even more reasons to be grateful... He wished he could repay him. He'd been given so much, simply out of kindness, and couldn't return it, for grandfather had passed away before Josh had grown up enough to do anything for him. His remorse was eased by the knowledge that, at least, he hadn't wasted his education only had graduated from high school as the best student and had been awarded with the university scholarship. However, had he become such a man his grandfather had wanted him to be? He would never know that...

"I think it's time for me," he said.

"But you've only come...!" Mrs Rubin objected. "Stay at least for dinner."

He felt a pang in his chest. People who didn't even know him were so kind... and he felt like staying longer indeed... In the end, however, he shook his head. "I want to visit the cemetery... I have to catch the afternoon train," he explained with his eyes down. Well, it was true... but actually he wanted to avoid getting emotional when with strangers, and he felt it was close.

They gave him an understanding look.

"Thank you for your hospitality... And I apologize for this intrusion," he said, getting up. "I came here without notice..."

Mrs Rubin gave a soft cry. "Oh, my... I completely forgot about it!" She jumped up and disappeared inside one room, calling, "Wait a moment, please!"

Josh looked at Mr Rubin with a question, but the man was staring after his wife, who returned rather fast, and with a big envelope in her hands.

"As I said, the house hadn't been at all cleaned before we moved in. We had to give away or throw out many items," she said in an apologetic voice. "But we found some personal things... that is, photographs, documents... and we had no idea who could take care of them. We probably should have handed them over to the authorities, but..." She shook her head and then gave Josh the envelope. "I think this belongs to you."

Josh stared at her in astonishment, as if not really grasping what she said, and then stretched his hands to take the packet... and was surprised to see them tremble. Judging from the weight, the envelope must have contained a lot of paper...

"If you want to browse through it now, please, do so," Mrs Rubin's voice penetrated into his mind.

He broke out of his reverie; only now he realised what had happened. Emotion welled up in him again, making him dizzy. For a moment, he wasn't sure what he should do... Holding the envelope, he hesitated between the urge to immediate look in and desire to do so alone, and decided on the latter. He raised his eyes on the couple. "Thank you, but I'd rather go. Really... thank you very much," he uttered through clenched throat, "that you have kept that... while you could have as well throw it out... If I can repay you for that..."

"But, what are you saying..." Mrs Rubin was clearly perplexed, but then she added with a smile, "Please, visit us again!"

Josh felt that pang in is chest again, like always when he was given such unconditional sympathy. "It may prove difficult, I live in Paris..." he started and stopped, realising that such excuses were impolite. "If only I'm around," he said in a lower voice, and Mrs Rubin beamed.

Little Michel began to jump up happily, and his mother ordered him on the yard, so that he didn't wake his little sister. Josh used the opportunity and bowed his head before going out, the brown envelope pressed tightly against his chest. He was walking with his eyes down, determined to leave here as soon as possible, before he went too sentimental... but, when he was on the curve already, something made him look back and cast the last glance at the house that had been his home during most of his childhood. He didn't know when he would return here and see it again... although he realised that he would always be able to see it in his mind - a picture of a little, country house with a sloping roof, situated at some distance from other buildings and surrounded by a few fruit trees and one tall poplar. A place bathed with the sunlight... A perfect home for someone who had nothing.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and walked on, no longer stopping nor paying any attention to other scenery, no matter how beautiful. It was only when he reached the cemetery that he slowed down to come to a stop entirely in front of its gate. Should he first go on the grave or rather look through the content of the envelope that had so unexpectedly come into his possession and couldn't be forgotten? He glanced at the watch and decided he still had time. He sought for a bench... There was one free.

His fingers were trembling when he carefully tore the edge of the envelope, trying not to damage anything inside. It was packed tightly, so he had to put the papers out little by little. Finally, there was a big pile of bigger and smaller sheets on his lap - fortunately, it wasn't windy today, otherwise he would have had trouble - and he started to inspect it. Some were of rather uninteresting nature - official documents, letter from banks, bills and so on... He only glanced at them and decided to read them later, not of any need, only curiosity. Only to reminisce what grandfather had done or what they had done together.

However, there were also private letters, and he became immersed in them with his heart racing. Some were very old, from twenty years ago and even longer, and he didn't read them now; other, however, were from time present to him... and concerned his person. Grandfather must have been corresponding with the orphanage and Saint Grollo Boys' School...! The latter was obvious; he had arranged a place for Josh there, after all. Yet, with the orphanage he had exchanged letters a longer while after taking Josh in... It seemed that twice a year he had inquired whether there had been no new information about Josh's background, and been given a polite reply that unfortunately not.

Josh felt touched. He'd had no idea about that! And yet grandfather had wanted to illuminate Josh's past, even though he might as well have settled with having taken him under his roof and never bothered about it...! To tell the truth, Josh realised he knew pathetically little about the man who had taken care of him and had given him home. He would definitely have to read those letters later; maybe he would be able to know him better.

He brought another paper to his eyes, and his heart started to beat even faster. It also was a document from the orphanage, but it was dated much earlier... when he'd been only three years old! It was a report of kind or another... He swept over it: _Joshua, family name: UNKNOWN. Born March 11, 19XX (3 years old). Place of birth UNKNOWN. Parents: UNKNOWN, might have died in a car accident. Arrived in orphanage April 4, 19XX. Medical condition: good. Development: normal. Vaccinations..._ Later was mostly the information on his health and behaviour.

Josh's eyes jumped to the third row, 'Might have died in a car accident'...

It was the first time he'd heard about it...! He didn't know a thing about his parents; he hadn't learned anything in the orphanage or from grandfather. He'd always assumed that the parents had abandoned him... had left him and gone away, and no-one knew who they'd been, so no-one could tell him about them. That's why he hadn't even had a family name before grandfather hadn't given him his own. It... It surely was like that...? Or wasn't?

He shut his eye-lids tight, trying to remember... and then looked again at the pile on his lap to frantically browse through it. He was relieved - but his chest ached, too - to find a photograph... he had _forgotten_ for so many years. He was staring at it now as if it belonged to someone else's life.

A little boy with a dark mop of hair and bright, smiling eyes, wearing a woollen jumper. A cake with two candles before him. An inscription on the verso, 'Josh turns two years old. March 11, 19XX.'

He had had that photograph in his pocket when they had found him after he had been wandering about alone. That was what he'd been told later, for he'd been too little to remember anything of it. The picture had been later printed in the newspaper, too... but no-one had ever appeared, no-one had come to take Josh home. No-one could provide any information.

He stared at the both sides of the photo. That inscription must have been written by his mother... Mother, what an abstract. Even if he often thought about his parents - wondered who... and what kind of people they had been - he didn't really understand what the word 'parent' meant. He imagined it to be someone who was always nearby, who cared and protected... Someone close, very close. Someone who understood. Someone who loved and would do anything.

Had his parents loved him? Had they been able to do anything for him?

'Might have died in a car accident.'

Suddenly, he felt a violent urge to visit the orphanage. It seemed they knew something more... _anything...!_ In the letters, they had written that nothing new - yet they knew _something_ Josh hadn't known...! Yes, he would go there! Today, right away. He had planned to go to Idealo, but no-one awaited him there. He shoved the papers back into the envelope impatiently. They would surely instruct him at the station as for how he could get there... He jumped up, ready to run for the train...

Few minutes later he was standing by Joel Or's grave with his head down.

'Grandpa, did you ever regret having adopted such a hopeless person? I know I shouldn't talk like this. You wouldn't be happy to hear me talking like this. I know you loved me... though I probably didn't deserve it. I didn't even come here, all those years... I guess I didn't want to show myself to you... telling you about my life. I'd like to tell you that I'm fine... so that you were glad, so that I wouldn't disappoint you... but the only thing I can brag about is studying at the university in Paris... for I didn't succeed in anything else. Well, I don't even know if I succeed in my studies... if I can even do in life what I study about now. For I think I'm not good for it, either. As for the rest... I'd rather not say anything. Sometimes I think it's a good thing you don't need to see what happened to me. You cared about me and were concerned about me... I'm sure you wouldn't like to know I'm such a mess. Although... you probably wouldn't hold it against me... you would only smile and say, _It's good to see you again, Joshua._ '

The letters on the stone suddenly became blurred before his eyes.

'Grandpa, why did you pass away? I still need your presence... I need you to tell me I'm not alone in the world. I don't want to be alone... It's the most terrible thing. I don't want to be alone...'

He squatted down, trying to hold back his tears, but in vain - just as it was in vain to await an answer. Only the birds were chirping in the bushes surrounding the cemetery, but their song was cheerful. He kept swallowing the tears down; in fact, he was crying over himself, for he had already said goodbye to grandfather long ago... After his death, he had spent many good years in Saint Grollo, which had helped him to ease the feeling of yet another loss, of yet another parting. But now, when the situation was different, it returned, and doubled... along with the realisation that his life had so little worth... so little essence... joy. No matter how he tried, his effort would give no result... and he would be left alone.

He stayed in that position for a longer while, crushed with sorrow and sadness; finally, he got up and wiped his eyes. Crying over his grandfather's grave wouldn't make his life any better; that one was certain. He took a deep breath and, in order to focus on more palpable matters, had a closer look at the stone. It seemed that the cemetery workers had been caring for it... but some flowers would still do. He remembered that he'd seen a stall by the entrance. He went back to, after a moment of reflection, buy a colourful bunch of garden flowers.

The saleswoman - an older lady with sharp eyes - handed him the posy, but then her hand froze. "My, if it isn't that rascal of Joel Or!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "Little Joshua! I wouldn't have recognized you if not for those cat's eyes of yours! No-one had eyes like that. But you're not that little any more, you've grown up pretty much!"

Josh focused his gaze on her. Her face was somewhat familiar... but nothing else. "I'm sorry, but..." he said, taking flowers.

"You don't remember me?" the older woman responded indignantly. "And whose garden it was that you used to steal cherries from?"

He blinked. "Mrs Almand!"

"Now, you do remember something. And here they say that only old people get dementia... Well, you haven't been here for a while," she said with irony but was clearly glad to see him. "It's some ten years since you left... To Idealo, wasn't it?"

At first, Josh was amazed at her memory... and then he remembered that in such small towns, where rarely anything big happened, people's attention was directed at the local society, and thus everyone knew everything about others. He distractedly thought of Mrs Bonnet... Well, apparently it didn't apply only to little towns, after all.

He focused his sight on Mrs Almand again. "Yes, to Idealo," he replied. "I went to school there. Now I live in Paris."

"My, my!" The old woman seemed surprised but also impressed. "I see that you're a decent adult already... even though you didn't feel like visiting your home town," she added mockingly.

"I visit it now," Josh replied with a smile.

"So you do. Better late than never," she agreed.

Josh raised his eyes and glanced over the low wall before looking at her again. "Who's taking care of... grandfather's grave?" he asked.

"The Mogans, like always. They take care of the cemetery, so they can tend to the graves of those who have no family." Josh felt remorseful; he really should have come here more often... But the woman's next statement nearly made him jump and forget all his problems altogether, "Joel probably had never expected to die after his son... Well, why should he? Parents shouldn't bury their own children, it goes against the grain."

Josh gaped at her, speechless; he wouldn't be more shocked if she suddenly grew another head. "Son...?" he repeated dully.

"I'm talking of that good-for-nothing... Jocelyn. He was a scally, that he was... and never grow out of it," saying that, the elder lady cast a stern look at Josh as if she wondered whether he remained a rascal himself.

Josh felt as if the ground beneath his feet collapsed. He really knew _nothing_ about the man who had cared for him all his childhood...! "Grandfather never mentioned him..." he whispered as if it were some justification. "What happened to him?" he asked in desire to atone for his ignorance, although he was a whole decade late.

Mrs Almand changed her position on the stool, looking around for possible customers, but there were none. Her gaze returned to Josh, and she started to speak. "They would always argue, father and son... at least when Jocelyn was no longer a little boy. His mother died early, and Joel took care of his son alone. But it seemed to me he couldn't set limits for him... He probably pitied the boy for having lost his mother and didn't want to be too strict. And thus Jocelyn grew up to be a hooligan... Well, it's not that he was bad, nothing like that... He just was careless and conceited. He quarrelled with his father about every little thing... like he knew better... Maybe he really missed his mother, I don't know. For an outsider, it looked like he just wanted to spite his father. Personally, I think that he would benefit from a good spanking, but Joel of course wouldn't do it. As soon as Jocelyn grew up a bit, he decided to leave home... 'to go to see the world,' like he used to say. He was of the opinion that staying in the country wasn't for people like him... He took his father's car and never came back. Later, we learned he'd caused a road accident and had died on spot."

Josh froze. "When did it happen?" he whispered.

"Some twenty years ago, maybe more... You see, Jocelyn doesn't rest here. They buried him there... if there was anything to bury, in the first place... I heard it had been a terrible crash... We learned about it much later. As for Joel, it was a tragedy; first he lost wife and then son, too. He no longer had any family. I wonder how he managed to stay so positive. Well, it's probably because of you..." the elder woman kept talking, but he could barely hear her.

"I'm sorry... I have to sit down," he choked and fell on a bench.

The feeling that there was nothing under his feet, only intensified. It was as if his world had been turned upside down in just one hour. Could it all be so simple? And so complex?

No, it couldn't be true. He imagined too much. That people in the orphanage had suspected his parents had died in an accident and that grandfather's son had died so indeed, didn't mean that it was the same person in question. It didn't mean it at all. Hundreds of people died in car accidents every day; that was what his reason told him. Calm down and think about it clearly, instead of letting your emotions speak.

Yet, that part of his mind that had already been set in motion, was working and analysing it its way. Was reaching the conclusions. Was finding the answers. Why had grandfather hid it? For he hadn't wanted to return to those events? Maybe he hadn't want to tell Josh what kind of person his father had been...? They had _never_ talked about it. Grandfather had just appeared in the orphanage one day, and the carer had brought him to Josh, saying simply, 'This man is your grandfather.' He still remembered those words.

Josh had always believed he'd been _given_ the family name Or after him... And now it might turn out that he'd had it _from the start_...?

He took the flowers and returned to the grave, very confused. He put the bunch on the stone and stared at the engraved letters as if he saw them for the first time. Joel Or... He'd never seemed as distant... as unknown as now.

'Why didn't you tell me? No... Why can't I talk with you about it? Learn the truth? Maybe you wanted me to love you for your presence... Or maybe you were ashamed of it? Grandpa, grandpa... It wouldn't change a thing between us, definitely not for worse... only for better.'

Now he knew he had to visit the orphanage. To explain it. To confirm it. He glanced at the watch; it was only three o'clock. It couldn't be far from here... In Esperanto, everywhere was rather close.

"It was nice to meet you, Mrs Almand," he said to the old woman, although his thought was already somewhere else. "I'm glad you've told me that... about grandfather. Now I have to go, but I hope to see you again."

"Be well!" she waved him goodbye, although her face clearly said what she thought of young ones who were always in a hurry.

One hour later, Josh would arrive at his destination. A lady on the station told him that there was a direct line to Paco - the town that the orphanage was located in - so he didn't think twice, only exchanged his ticket and boarded the first train that went that direction.

On his way, he browsed through the rest of the papers in the envelope, but he didn't find anything to help him solve the problem. There were some photographs, but all from the time he'd already lived with grandfather. In different circumstances, they would have certainly moved him, but now he was too focused on his new discovery that needed to be confirmed. There were many old letters, as well, but no information about a grandson... None of them was signed by that particular name, either... Well, from what he'd heard, Jocelyn Or didn't seem like a person who would write letters to his father...

He mused. So grandfather couldn't be harsh with his son... and thus Jocelyn had grown up to be a conceited rascal who hadn't respected anyone...? Josh had also used to be a rascal, but later he had stopped... Maybe it ran in the family? With him, grandfather hadn't been strict, either; quite the contrary, he would be gentle, always smiling, helping and supportive... and would it have been possible with a child of a stranger?

Was Jocelyn Or Josh's father?

He felt dizzy again. Just a moment ago, he hadn't even known about that person... about his existence... and now he already fancied he'd found his _father_... A parent who'd been long dead. Did it still matter? Why was it so important to him? Why was he... ready to accept the father that he'd heard only criticism about? Did he yearn to have roots so much, the roots he had longed for the whole life? Lineage, origin... knowledge that he hadn't come from nowhere... That his parents had faces and had used to be living people. That he was their continuation. That was the worst thing: knowing that he hadn't even had a family name... that he didn't know a thing about those who had given him life... as if they had never existed. Maybe that was why he had always desired for another person's presence by his side: to find some foothold? Maybe that was why loneliness was so difficult: it meant floating in the void with no contact to others?

Or maybe... Maybe grandfather _had_ read the notice in the newspaper, and that was why he had come to the orphanage for Josh? Now it seemed perfectly sensible.

But, if it was the case, why he would keep sending those letters, for many years, and asking whether there had been any news on Josh's parents? Ah, maybe he'd wanted to know who Josh's mother had been? The woman his son had become involved with...?

Something in Josh's head was telling him that he had got everything wrong. That he read connection into where there wasn't any... that he created his own visions based merely on presumptions that might have nothing to do with each other... And what for? It wouldn't change his past. His father wasn't alive - and would still be dead. Grandfather had brought him up - and what was the difference if he had been his real grandfather? Still, he wanted so much to confirm that blood relation... so much wanted to _belong_ to the family, even though he hadn't even thought about it just a few hours ago. Now he felt he wouldn't calm down unless he figured the truth. For nearly twenty years he had been an orphan without parents - without as much as their names! - and now he finally had a chance to change it.

He couldn't think about anything else and didn't even try. He was like in fever, with his mind and senses excited, with his emotions clenching his chest so that he could barely breath. He would see the scenery outside the window only unconsciously; what he focused on was that the train was moving so slowly and he would never reach his destination. When he got off on a small station, he was under the impression that his legs wouldn't hold him, that 'the fever' took all his physical strength - but it all must have been about coming to the place that his dreams might quickly be crushed... the dreams provoked by one sentence from an old letter and one statement of an elder lady. He realized he wanted the confirmation as strongly as he feared refutation; it would leave him with nothing... like until now.

Paco was a small town - resembling all he had passed on his way here - so he didn't spare it any attention. At the station, he asked for directions... and it was only now that he thought that the facility might not exist any more. It said much about the state he was in, and normally he would be displeased with himself. Now, however, it wasn't of any significance; he had been guided by his need and would do anything to satisfy it. Besides, he comforted himself, the worker on the previous station had seemed to know where it was he'd wanted to get when he'd showed her one letter from the institution with the address written on it.

However, he learned that the orphanage was still functioning, and headed for it by foot. After less than thirty minutes, he was standing in front of the building he could hardly remember. No, he didn't remember at all... but he knew that yard, he knew that scene that evoked some funny feeling inside him, completely unlike anything he'd felt for last hour or two. That was because of the children filling the yard, just like long ago, always, regardless of the weather and time of year. Some were playing happily, running around, shouting to each other and laughing; some other were standing alone, detached from the group, and not so cheerful...

Josh stopped by the gate - and stopped in his activity. He immediately forgot what it was he'd come here for. He forgot it completely, as if had never existed. Everything he'd been living with for last two hours, had vanished from his mind and his heart... replaced by an unexpected willing to approach those sad creatures and talk with them. The sight of those little ones cast a spell on him... and he was crushed by a sudden desire to do something for them... help them somehow... The impression was so strong that he'd grabbed the pales of the gate to overcome the impulse urging him to enter, stretch his hands...

What could he really do? That thought, reasonable as it was, filled him with despair. He wanted to go away, not staring at that picture, yet he kept standing here, unable to move from the spot... but then a few children realised his presence and stared at him with surprise... with interest... with greed... He thought he understood those gazes.

"Can I help you?"

He twitched. He hadn't noticed a young woman that had appeared in the doorway and was now observing him, curious expression on her kind face. Josh snapped out of his daze and took a step back. How could he have looked like: a stranger standing behind the fence and ogling the children...?

The girl, however, didn't seem to think badly of him. "If you have any business, please, come in," she encouraged him in a gentle voice, which gave him some confidence.

He remembered he had a business here indeed, although suddenly he realised it was no longer stirring such emotion in him as a short time ago. He glanced at the group of children again, then mustered his courage and opened the gate. The girl waited for him and then showed him inside. She must have been at his age. Her brown hair was tied in the back of her head, and her hazel eyes were warm. She kept smiling, which only added to the nice impression she made. She seemed a perfect person in this place.

"You were standing there and observing the children with such longing," she said openly as they walked the corridor smelling of lavender, "that for a moment I thought you wanted to adopt one of them. But you're much too young, so forgive me having such thoughts."

Josh brushed his hair aside. "I used to live here... for some time... long ago, as a child," he explained.

"Ah," she replied, and a sudden understanding and sympathy were to be heard in her voice. "And you came for a visit?" she guessed.

"I came... I came because..." What should he say? To whom? "Are you a director?"

"No, of course not!" she laughed, turning to him, as if she found the very thought amusing. "I only help Madame Zircon. Do you wish to speak with her?"

Josh mused. Zircon... That name certainly rang a bell... Well, yes, he'd just seen it in the letters. He banished away an absurd thought that he was in the right place. "Yes, if possible."

He realised again that he should have called... arranged the meeting... not come here blindly, bother those people... They could be busy with their duties and many things to attend to... He might have found no-one capable of answering his questions. It would only be reasonable to have notified them... But he couldn't wait. Besides, such thoughts were pointless now that he already was here and about to talk with a proper person, or so it seemed. He was really lucky.

The girl asked him to wait a moment and disappeared. Josh looked around the room. He didn't remember it at all... and, to tell the truth, the building seemed much newer it should. Was Josh's memory so bad already? Or had they had a general renovation? Actually, it had been very long since he'd left here... And he'd been very young, too, no older than four years old. Many things might have happened during that time, and it would be rather strange if he had remembered everything perfectly.

He didn't wait long. The young carer, who had introduced herself as Marise just a moment ago, came back and invited him to the director's office. Josh had no idea whom he should expect, maybe someone like Madame Montagne... However, he was greatly mistaken, for Madame Zircon appeared to be a slight woman with grey hair... But, when he looked closer, he came to the conclusion that the look in her brown eyes was as intent as that of the head nurse in Sainte-Jeanne Hospital, and her expression was firm. Both women must have been of similar age.

Madame stretched her hand, regarding him in a penetrating manner. "Juliette Zircon," she said, squeezing his fingers. "I suppose we have met before...?"

"I think so. That is, if you worked here fifteen-twenty years ago, Madame," Josh replied somewhat hesitantly. "I'm Joshua... Joshua Or. I lived here for some time," he added, although Marise must have already informed about that.

"Ah, Joshua!" she smiled, apparently remembering him. "Forgive me, I don't remember you that much... Rather your _story_."

Josh felt his heart leapt, as if he was waking from that strange trance he'd been experiencing in this place. "I... I think that's the reason for my being here today," he said quietly. He decided it was better to speak openly instead of beating about the bush. He hadn't come here for a chit-chat, after all. The woman gave him a questioning look. "Could you spare me some time, Madame?" he inquired. "There are some things I'd like to ask you about."

After a moment, she nodded and showed him on the couch. They sat down. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?" she offered.

"Something cold, thank you..."

Madame Zircon nodded to Marise, who was waiting in the door for the instructions. The girl left, only to soon return with a jug of juice. She made sure she was no longer needed and disappeared again.

Josh filled his glass; the drink smelled nicely, of raspberries, and tasted even better. "I don't want to take much of your time, Madame," he said, having satisfied his thirst... at least that physical. "You probably know what it is I want to talk with you about... to ask you about."

She nodded slowly. "You want to ask about your childhood, about your past. About what had happened before you came to our facility, for you were too young to remember, right?" it was more a statement than a question. She must have had many conversations like this during all those years of work in an orphanage... But her next words surprised him, "Tell me about yourself, it will help me remember you better," she proposed.

He quickly decided she couldn't remember in details events from over fifteen years ago, so he nodded and gathered all facts he'd already known. "I was born on March 11," he said and added the year. "I came here in April, two years later. It seems I was wandering around the area, and no-one here knew me, but I had that photograph with me..." He looked inside the envelope and began to search for the picture with his trembling fingers. When he found it, he showed it to her. "Hence my first name and my date of birth... but nothing else. I spent here over a year, and then grandfather... I mean, Joel Or," he corrected quickly, "took me from here to care about me like his grandson. Later, I lived for many years in his house, in Suno..."

"Right, Suno... That was it," Madame Zircon said, returning the photograph to him. "I just couldn't remember the place."

Josh gave her an intent look. "Grandfather would keep exchanging letters with this facility... with you, Madame. He asked whether there was any information about my origin, didn't he?" Madame Zircon nodded, so he went on, "You said you remembered my... story. And I found... in one of those documents," he browsed through the pile of paper again, "the information that my parents might have died in a car accident." He found the right sheet and handed it to her. "I had no idea of it myself... Could you please tell me more about it, Madame? Maybe there are some documents, some information I don't have...? I couldn't find anything more here..."

Madame Zircon's gaze swept over the writing, and then she gave it back to him. She stared at him for a moment and then suppressed a sigh and averted her eyes. "Unfortunately, we have to rely on my not very good memory. There are no documents, Joshua," she said outright, and Josh felt his heart freeze. "A few years ago, there was a fire here. All the records were lost in it... and good that only that," she added with irony before looking at him again and shaking her head, "I'm sorry. I'm the only person that can tell you anything."

Josh swallowed the sudden feeling of disappointment. Then, Was it pointless to have come here? He felt tired and dejected. "That's a shame..." he whispered, lowering his head. "I was sure I could learn... confirm my suspicions..."

"I think it's too early to give up," Madame Zircon interrupted him. "On the other hand, there were always too many unknown facts about that matter, ones that were never explained. I want to say that even if our archives had still existed... that is, if we could use documents from that time, it wouldn't help you anyway, for later we never got any new information concerning you... Nothing else that we knew from the start," she emphasised, looking at him closely.

Josh nodded automatically, although he was still of the opinion the irreparable harm had been done, and he was the loser.

"Earlier I said that I remembered your story better than yourself, and this is true, for it is engraved on my memory... as well as everyone's that worked here that time and probably even many of local people's... because you came here in very atypical circumstances," Madame Zircon explained, and Josh felt his hope was being renewed. He raised his eyes and looked at her shyly. "Children we care about here are often... Well, we know who they are in vast majority of cases. Those are local children, who lost their parent... parents. Or were sent here when parents could no longer care about them. Even if an unfamiliar child comes here, we usually are able to identify them," she explicated.

Josh decided it sounded rather reliable.

"However, your case was different," Madame Zircon said. "Like you said, you were found wandering around all alone. No-one knew who you were. We put the notice in the newspaper, along with that photograph," she pointed at the picture on his lap, "but no-one contacted us, no-one provided any information... Later, we learned that a smashed car had been found in the neighbouring town, far from the main road... Well, it wasn't smashed, only burnt to the core. They could only ascertain it hadn't belonged to the locals; it must have been someone from outside. But it was many kilometres from where you were found, while two-years-old child wouldn't be able to walk such a distance; that's what we thought that time..." She mused, and her eyes lost its sharpness; apparently, she was reminiscing those events. After a moment, she fixed her gaze on him again. "Nevertheless, it was the only trace we had: you, a child unknown to anyone, and that car accident in which some strangers had been. That's why it was written in that document... but with great caution," she stressed.

Josh stared to the side, but he couldn't really see what was before his eyes; he was looking at the depths of his memory and his life, that still had so many unanswered questions. "I didn't know about that..." he whispered.

"Those were too drastic details to be told two or three years old child," Madame Zircon replied. "As for your guardian... He probably had reasons for not revealing them to you."

Josh felt agitated. "He didn't say a thing... And now I'll never know it!" His fingers clutched in the envelope, but he relaxed them right away, for he didn't wish to ruin the papers, and looked at the woman again. "So you say that... that accident happened not so far from here?"

"Yes."

"And it was never revealed who had ridden that car?"

She shook her head. "As far as I know, never."

Josh kept staring at her and struggling with himself. Once he said that aloud, there was no return... But that was what he'd come here for: to ask about that particular matter. Still, it took a longer while of silence, filled only with the ticking of he clock, before he dared to speak. "Madame... Is there any... any chance that... that car could have been driven by... my grandfather's son... Jocelyn Or?" he whispered, regarding the woman with eyes wide open.

She frowned. "Why did it occur to you?" she asked in astonishment.

Josh tucked a strand of his hair behind one ear in a nervous gesture. However, once he'd started, it was easier to talk. "Today I learned that... that his only son had died young in a car accident... just when I received those papers," he confessed. "I thought it couldn't be a coincidence... I had to come here, to ask... if it is possible that... I was... that I really am Joel Or's grandson," he added helplessly yet beggingly. "Can you tell me about it...?" he uttered, although he realised he felt like an idiot.

Madame Zircon was still looking at him with her brows knitted, but she didn't seem to consider his question wrong... or just stupid. "Let me think a moment," she asked in a gentle voice. "I have a terrible memory of names... of places, but much better of dates and events. And conversations. Please, let me think a moment," she repeated.

Josh was sitting on the couch; his heart was racing. He poured himself some juice, for his mouth was dry, and drank it in one gulp, while Madame Zircon put one hand to her forehead and visibly became immersed in thought.

Only now he realised how much had happened since morning. For the last few hours he'd been running... chasing after something that could as well be not true. He'd been searching frantically, speaking with new - familiar - people, visiting far - close - places... Quite unexpectedly, his life had been turned upside down - or, at least, his thoughts had. He should be in Idealo now. In the morning, when he'd boarded the train, he hadn't even imagined that something so shaking might happen... that something could push him off course, both literally and metaphorically. He'd departed from Sainte-Jeanne in order to break away from the sadness he'd experienced there... and now he noticed he hadn't spared Gilles a single thought, even though the boy's death had been such a tragedy only yesterday. True, it was good to occupy himself with different things - to drive away the despair - but what did such complete detachment say of him? Such oblivion?

What was more, he hadn't thought of Alain, either! It was as if the current issue was only his problem, which he wished to deal with alone. Well, it _was_ , but not so long ago he'd been sure he'd wanted to share everything with Alain. Well, to tell the truth, Alain wasn't a perfect company to converse on any family matters, for he didn't want to speak of his stepfather at all, didn't know his biological father, and his relationship with mother was, to put it mildly, bad. As for Josh, he had become an orphan in early childhood and had nothing to say on the topic... Maybe that was why, now that the problem had arisen, he'd 'forgot' about Alain, for one thing just didn't relate to other...? However, now he wished Alain were here... but, then again, he'd always wanted Alain to be there, by his side, so it wasn't anything special, really. Besides, it wasn't even certain that Alain would have felt good here; after what happened with Grace and Georges, he might felt reluctant about places like this one. Josh felt a sudden loneliness and shrunk on the couch.

No, he couldn't pretend it was nothing; the matter had preoccupied him to the fullest. Maybe it was some intentional action, too? He'd needed a counterbalance for what had happened in Paris... no, in Sainte-Jeanne, and such revelation on his own past were just perfect for this purpose. Looking at Madame Zircon's intent face, he asked himself what the chances that he was really related to Joel Or were - and answered himself that very little. Non-existent. Mrs Almand would have surely told him that, would have reacted in another way... Yet nothing in her words had indicated she'd considered him to be Jocelyn Or's son. Everyone must have thought - known - that Joel Or had adopted an orphaned boy... not that he had taken care of his grandson.

Not that it made any difference. It didn't, none at all.

Still, he felt disappointed at the thought it was all just his daydream. He even wished he hadn't asked Madame Zircon about it. Maybe he should have been happy with daydreams...?

And then, once more, he thought he was an idiot. Whatever he might do, whatever he might learn, it wouldn't change _a thing_ about his past. Twenty years of life... they had been real. Every day, so many good days - with grandfather, with Erwin, with Alain... In Suno, in Idealo, in Paris. He was Joshua Or, and no-one else. What did it matter who his parents were? He'd been doing perfectly well without them.

Madame Zircon looked at him again and clasped her hands on her lap. Apparently, she was ready to give him the answer, whatever it might be... "I can't quote you the exact words," she warned him right at the start, and Josh gulped, "but I'm sure that when your guardian contacted us... when we talked about you... he said something like that, 'I lost my son in an accident years ago. Had it not happened, I might have had a grandson like that little one now.'" She gave Josh even more penetrating look. "He said, 'years ago', so he just couldn't have referred to what had happened here when you were found. Besides... He must have known where and when it had occurred," she pointed out, "and that his son had been a victim. But those people who had died here couldn't be identified... it was simply impossible," she added in a lower voice.

Josh was sitting still. What he'd just heard sounded so logic, so sensible, so unquestionable... He'd thought he would be dejected, crushed by the truth... and now he understood that deep inside he'd expected such an answer. In truth, he'd known all along that the answer couldn't be different, and yet something had made him come here, follow an empty hope... Maybe that was because he'd never feel satisfied with daydreaming, it just wasn't his way... he'd always preferred truth over fiction, even if he often couldn't really see it. Or maybe he'd just decided it had been better to pursue this matter than give in to depression due to Gilles... to catch that Ariadne's thread, even it it would take him to quite another place he'd assumed. Another places could be nice, too. Actually, now he felt he'd got rid of some load - uncertainty, feeling of loss. Now he was standing on what he'd been standing on so far - and it wasn't that bad.

"Are you disappointed?" Madame Zircon asked gently, reading his mind.

He shook his head and fixed his eyes on her. "No. And I don't regret having come here, either," he replied truthfully, straightening up.

It seemed that response pleased her. "What are you going to do now?" she inquired.

He hadn't thought of it... but there were not many options anyway. "I guess I'll go to Idealo, just as I initially planned," he decided.

"Won't you like to spend night here?" she offered. "I'd love to talk with you longer. Even if it was for a short while, you did live here. I'm always happy to hear about how our charges do in life."

"I don't want to be a problem," he said like he used to.

Her eyes flashed. "In a way, it is your home," she retorted but checked herself, "But I suppose it's not a home to be nicely remembered..."

Josh realised he had involuntarily hurt her. "Please, don't say that," he rushed to reply. "You... You took care of me when I had no-one else." He nodded. "Like you said, it _was_ my home, for a while," he repeated in a serious voice. "True, when I lived with grandfather already, I didn't want to reminisce this place... but it was not because I had felt bad here, only..."

"Only because here you were an orphan," she finished calmly. "I understand it perfectly. In any case, I insist that you stay the night. Unless you already have an appointment in Idealo...?"

Josh shook his head. "No, I'm now awaited there..." he replied openly, "so I'm glad to accept your invitation."

Madame Zircon smiled. "The children will be happy. We rarely have guests, so it's a significant attraction for them."

"May I... May I talk to them?" Josh asked on impulse.

"But of course!" She clearly rejoiced his suggestion. "Only don't let them tyrannise you."

"Why? Do you think it could do them harm?"

"Not them. _You._ "

Josh had to smile - and her eyes also brightened playfully, which couldn't be seen until now - but he soon became serious again. "Madame Zircon... Is there a police station in Paco?" he asked. "Or... Do you know where I can learn more about that car accident...?" He just couldn't leave that matter, even if he wouldn't widen his current knowledge at all, which was likely.

"Yes, there is," she nodded. "It is our district police headquarters that investigated that incident."

"Then, I'm going to visit them now."

"But today is Saturday," she noticed. "I doubt anyone could attend to you there."

"Ah, right..." Thanks to all that, he'd lost his sense of time.

"Of course, if you feel like, you can stay until Monday," Madame Zircon said in a casual voice.

Josh fixed his gaze on her and nodded distractedly. Now it didn't seem such a bad idea. He had to return to Sainte-Jeanne by Wednesday evening... He had plenty of time.

Madame rose from the couch, so he got up, too. "I'll ask Marise to prepare a room for you," she said with verve. "We have dinner at six; I'll show you were our dining-room is. And where you can refresh after the journey, too." She approached the door and invited him to follow her.

"Thank you," he said, his throat suddenly clenched. "You don't need to care about me that much..."

She stopped in her tracks and turned back to look at him in an utter amazement. "Why else are we here for?" she replied with a smile before resuming to walk.

Josh breathed deeply and followed her; however, it took him a while to be able to speak normally again.

He couldn't resist the impression that for a longer time he'd been encountering only good people.

* * *

 _My pain from a past I wish not to return to - Eri Kawai, "Madoromi no rinne"_


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**  
 _ **(shinwa no kuni made yuku)**_

* * *

The next morning, Josh waked up much calmer. He felt that fever accompanying him the previous day had gone away. He'd slept the night, and the emotions had subsided. Actually, it was the last evening already that he'd been able to think of another things, and now he wondered whether he was so superficial person, indeed, jumping from one matter to another without getting seriously involved... However, it might also be the opposite and prove the diversity of his feelings, or something like that.

Suffice it to say that his attention had been diverted by the children living in the facility. Altogether, there was over twenty of them: the youngest weren't even two, and the oldest were fourteen. At first, they would be shy around him, which was mutual, actually; however, soon they had 'accepted' his presence and drawn him into their play (the younger ones) and talks (the older). The former had given him a lot of joy; as for the latter, his feelings were much more complex... He suspected that, during just a few hours, he'd heard more complaints, requests, secrets and regrets than the caretakers used to during one month. It could have something to do with the fact he was a stranger, and sometimes it was easier to confide in a stranger. It could also be that the children considered him someone they might one day become themselves; Madame Zircon had introduced him as a former charge, so maybe, unconsciously, he'd become a kind of model to them... He was able to understand they might need it, even if himself he didn't feel like an authority to anyone. Still, he could peculiarly sustain their hope: he'd been taken in, had found a family and a home. He could also offer them a motivation, as someone who'd grown up, lived independently and studied at university. Above all, he was someone who'd gone through the same things they had: loss of parents and stay in an orphanage; no wonder, then, that many had felt like talking to him.

And he would listen to them patiently, trying to comfort, advise, and support. He'd gone to bed quite late, for even at midnight, hiding from the carers, those wronged creatures would slip into his room, and he just couldn't send them away. If he was able to help them some way - if only with one good word - he didn't intend to let that chance pass, especially that he would disappear from here in two days, and probably for good...

He realised he had a great respect for people running this facility; they had to face the children's problems every day, mitigate the conflicts, give care and devote attention. Marise was only one year older than he, yet she worked here and gave her best to take care of orphaned children that had no other home. It was a demanding work, and a person lacking empathy - but also the ability to set limits - wouldn't be able to do it. On the other hand, it required specific toughness to be able to constantly deal with a human's misfortune... with a misery of a child that couldn't be blame for it. Yes, Josh was impressed - also as someone who'd once been on the other side, requiring that care and attention that he'd been then given only here, and by strangers.

After breakfast, Madame Zircon asked him to tell more about himself, and thus he launched into a story of his life with grandfather in Suno, of seven years in Idealo and education in Saint Grollo, as well as his studies in Paris.

"I think you've made a right choice," she said, and he stared at her, raising his brows. "I saw you talking with our children yesterday. You can probably guess... or know, actually, that they don't open up easily to just anyone... But you have a proper attitude."

"I suppose they just regard me as someone who understands them."

"Well, that, probably, too, of course," she agreed. "However, it doesn't automatically mean they are right. While in your case it holds true. But on the previous topic... Have you thought about what you would like to do after you graduate?"

Josh shook his head. "For a moment, I considered clinical psychology... but I no longer think so."

She gave him a questioning look, so he summarized the last events in Sainte-Jeanne. He mentioned his enthusiasm about his practice period, joy he'd derived from the patient work, and shock because of the young man's suicide. Talking about it filled him with grief again - it would probably last a longer while until Gilles' death stopped pain him - but he realised he felt somewhat relieved, being able to share it with a stranger. Or maybe it was about being able to _talk_ about it? Two days ago, he had been mostly crying, unable to put his feelings into words, and now he could speak about it with someone... was no longer alone with his emotions and suffering.

"Then, I don't know if I'm cut out for that work," he summed up. "I intend to go back there and complete my practice... but after what happened I suppose I'll be too scared of making another mistake to be able to occupy myself with it in the future."

"But the death of that patient wasn't your fault," Madame Zircon pointed out. "Still, I understand your feeling of uncertainty. No matter how strong they are, such things can undermine a person's confidence."

"In any case, I still have three years of study ahead," Josh decided not to comment her words on being strong, especially that he didn't consider himself that. "I'm sure I'll find my field."

"I wish you- No, I'm sorry," she said quickly, and Josh wondered what she'd meant. "I'm glad you're going to stay here with us one more day. But tomorrow you're leaving, isn't it right? To Idealo?"

"Yes, but... may I use your phone? I'd like to notify-"

He realised it wouldn't do to once again descend on Erwin and Cecile without warning. Not that calling them one day before his arrival made any difference... He should have contacted them one week ago. Or let them know when still in Paris, that he would be in neighbourhood and wished to visit them. Now that he thought about it, he came to the conclusion he'd lost his ability to act on plan... Really, he'd used to be much more organised before... and now he mostly acted 'on the spur of the moment'. Erwin deserved some respect... especially after having been treated by Josh like that... That was, after Josh had got together with Alain, which was a crime in Erwin's eyes.

It could be that Erwin wouldn't even open his door to him... and that thought made Josh freeze to the spot.

"Joshua..?"

He shook his head. Either way, he had to inform Erwin. However, when he approached the phone, he realised he didn't know the number. He was really hopeless... Actually, in his whole life, he'd memorised exactly one number: Alain's. He wouldn't bother about everything else. "Madame, do you have the phone book of Idealo?" he asked, embarrassed.

"Of course."

Observing how Madame Zircon searched the right book on a shelf that looked more like a dump than an ordered place, Josh remembered that there was something like directory inquires, too. Well, he used to live in the world that no other means of communication but face-to-face and mail existed. True, he had a few important numbers written down in the notebook, but it hadn't occurred to him to take it along on the journey. He really should buy himself a cell phone, just like Alain had advised him to for a longer while... But what did he need it for? Who it was he could call to? First, he didn't like it; second... He still remembered the TV drama they'd come upon with Alain, when they'd still had their television. One character, a middle-aged woman, having returned home from work every day, would lie down on her couch and spend hours calling all friends and family members to chitchat, which was terrible. On the other hand, Alain did have a phone, yet he used it very rarely, so it was also possible that way... However, something of that kind seemed to Josh a hassle and waste of money.

Thought of Alain hurt... Well, he was about to go to Idealo, and it was there that everything had started. It was there that they had got to know each other and had become close... But now? How it would be: to walk down the familiar streets, to look at the church and campus, and all other buildings... to eat cheesecake in the _Shelly_ \- once more _alone_? For a second, he had no idea how he should think of Alain and himself. Were they still together? Were they still a pair? If they were, then probably the most odd pair in the world: one in Idealo, and the other... no-one knew where. Without contact, without reach, without... anything. Suddenly he felt like calling Alain instead of Erwin - and that was what he should have done long ago. Really, he'd been acting ridiculously: instead of clearing up the situation, he'd just let it continue... hoping for the best. Yet, he knew why he hadn't done so; he'd probably feared Alain not picking up, still unwilling to talk with him... or, even worse, he'd feared to hear the words of definite rejection, which he wouldn't be able to bear, at least not on the phone. Had he really come to the conclusion that he'd preferred the truth over daydreaming, only yesterday? How could he be so uncritical? Sometimes he really amazed himself...

Madame Zircon finally found the right book, although it was near that the whole pile dropped on the floor... Fortunately, she managed to stop the avalanche on time, and only a few sheets of paper fell on the carpet. She handed him a weighty volume with a bright cover and stooped to clear the mess, dismissing his help. Josh began to search for Erwin's name - making sure that the directory was up-to-date - but he was soon interrupted by a soft cry. He looked away from the column of letters - stopping the finger in the middle of the page - and saw Madame holding a note that must have flown with others from the shelf.

"Joshua..." she said in a weak voice, forgetting about the items remaining on the floor. "I think this is something that can interest you. As well as a proof of my bad memory," she added, dejected and frustrated, still staring at the scrap. "Oh my God. How could I have forgotten about it... I'm ashamed of myself. I'm sorry." She looked at him with remorse.

"What is it, Madame?" Josh asked calmly, although his heart beat faster.

Madame Zircon sat down on the armrest of the couch, still holding the note up in her hands and staring at it as a bad omen. At last, she lowered it on her lap and looked at Josh in despair. He closed the phone book and put it away, guessing he wouldn't need it for a while.

"Madame...?"

Madame was obviously agitated, but not as much for him to worry about her health. She seemed to gather her thoughts, her gaze shifting between him and the scrap of paper, and finally she spoke, "It happened after that fire I told you about yesterday... We were visited by a man looking for his missing relatives... I don't remember the details... nor the degree of that kinship, but I think it was a close family in question. In any case, he had lost contact with them much earlier... They had had some family issues and hadn't stuck together. Later, he'd tried to find them for many years, but in vain... and finally he'd started to tour the orphanages, searching for the son of his, presumably late, relative."

She knitted her brows and pressed one hand to her forehead in order to concentrate. "Such people aren't so rare here, so I can't remember every one of them," she said in an apologetic voice. "That time it was pretty chaotic here, and we'd lost all records... I couldn't help that man as much as I wanted. I was sure, however, that the child he was looking for had never been here... Well, I did mention your story to him, because we'd never managed to figure out who you were. I remember myself saying, 'And there was Joshua, too'. At first, that man was sceptical, for the boy's name was different, I can't remember what, while we knew at least that much, exactly as much, that you were Joshua. Thus, we thought it was a different child in question."

She took a deep breath, looking him in the eye, and resumed talking, "Later, however, when he learned about that car accident, that man returned here and wanted to know more about you... but it was impossible, for everything had burned, and I didn't remember where and with whom you lived. I had no idea where he could look for you; there are many children coming and leaving here, many of them find a new home. It could have been everywhere... and it was only now that you told me it was Suno. That man was, of course, disappointed about not being able to confirm his suspicions... He was sure he would be able to recognize the boy. Well, he left his address and asked to contact him in case any information came up... but I forgot about it completely." She clasped her hands beggingly. "Oh, Joshua, forgive me...! We had so much on our mind... although it's no excuse... That note lied here for years. And it would've lied twice as long if you hadn't showed up."

"But I did show up," Josh whispered, wondering whether all that was a terrible coincidence... or was it fate giving him a chance to find his roots. In just twenty-four hours he'd been given three pieces of information... three presumptions... More than in his whole life. The dramatic story only fuelled the feeling that something was in question, and he should solve it.

Madame Zircon gave him the paper - that could contain the information of his _living_ relative - but, before glancing at it, he asked himself whether he could bear yet another disappointment. It could be another blind alley, another misunderstanding, another empty hope... Still... did he have anything to lose? In the worst case, his life would continue as it was, which wasn't that bad. He made his decision and looked at the note.

Ghislain Lavaud. And below phone number and address.

"Toulouse...?" Josh asked, raising his eyes upon Madame Zircon, who nodded.

"Yes, that man was a French," she disclosed another revelation that she'd left unsaid before.

Josh blinked and stared at the scrap again. Might it appear that he was a French by birth? Well, it was probably too early for such reflection, but... He mused. To tell the truth, he'd never had any difficulty with learning French. No; actually, he didn't remember _learning_ French. Those lessons in primary school, mandatory right from the first class... It hadn't been learning, only communing with language, absorbing it. In middle school, he already spoke both languages equally fluently, although it didn't mean anything, for most people in Esperanto used French without trouble.

"What language did I speak when coming here?" he asked involuntarily.

"You were two years old," Madame Zircon reminded.

"But two-year-old children speak a bit already, don't they...?" Josh pointed out annoyed, looking up at her.

She shrugged. "You understood what was said to you, so it didn't occur to anyone to talk to you in another tongue," she replied dryly.

Well, it did sound logical. Overcoming his agitation, he stared at the paper again. Turning it up and down in his fingers, he thought about what he felt. Probably nothing. Maybe he really didn't want to hope vainly, so he'd rather not speculate... On the other hand, he realised he didn't want leave it like that. No. He _wanted_ to know whether that man - now only a name on a sheet of paper - was really his relative. There was no other feeling than curiosity. Yes, _only_ curiosity. Until now, he hadn't even thought... assumed he had any living relatives - why should it shake him now? If things had been different - if he had been searching for and longing for relatives all his life - he would have felt upset that the note had been lying here... How long? Ten years? Fifteen? But what should he be angry with? Fire? Bad memory? Fate?

Now fate was giving him another chance - and it was probably worth taking it...?

"What are you going to do?" Madame Zircon seemed to be reading his mind.

"I think my trip to Idealo will have to wait," he replied, looking at her. "It's the opposite direction, and I should be back in Sainte-Jeanne on Wednesday... Besides, I have no money to travel around southern France and its neighbourhood," he added, realising his means were limited. His room and board being paid by Sainte-Jeanne, he had nearly all his scholarship for this month at his disposal; still, it wasn't a great amount, and the rail tickets were rather expensive.

"Maybe you should call...?" Madame Zircon suggested.

"I don't think it is something to be talked over on the phone," he said; the very idea seemed repulsive.

She shook her head. "Of course it isn't. But if you're going to go there, you should first make sure that the address is still valid... And if you'll be able to meet that man, in the first place," she noticed lucidly, pointing at the phone behind his back.

Josh said nothing. Distractedly, he asked himself whether Madame Zircon wasn't giving him a veiled reproach for having not informed her of his coming here... He nodded, for she was perfectly right. There was no point in going all the way to Toulouse and then learning that he came in vain. He hadn't thought of it himself... which recently used to happen all the time. He turned to the phone, lifted the receiver and dialled the number with his heart racing. His hopes, if he'd had any, vanished quickly upon hearing the characteristic sound followed by, _"The number you have reached is not in service."_

He gave Madame Zircon a helpless look, but she came closer and stretched her hand. "Show me it... Well, of course, there was a change in phone numbers in the meantime."

"Change in numbers...?" he asked, surprised.

"From seven to eight digits," she explained. "Call the directory assistance," she suggested. "With the full name and the address, there should be no problem."

Josh's hands trembled somehow when, during the next few minutes, he dialled one number, gave personal details, wrote down the combination and then dialled it... Actually, his nervousness about using the telephone obscured his nervousness about the whole business. He supposed that, even if he called Erwin, the conversation would look the same way, which meant stammering and stuttering.

"Lavaud residence, Pichet speaking," a calm male voice was to be heard.

Josh gulped. "I... I'd like to speak with Mr Ghislain Lavaud," he uttered, looking at the note.

"Monsieur is currently absent. Would you like to leave him a message, sir? Or would you rather call later, in the afternoon?" the man asked politely.

Josh tried to gather his thoughts, which always seemed difficult in similar situations, but his interlocutor was waiting patiently. "Does it mean that Mr Lavaud will be at home in the afternoon?" he asked in the end.

"That is correct," he heard the answer.

"Thank you," he uttered and rang off, although he realised he could be considered ill-mannered.

"You don't like talking on the phone," Madame Zircon stated with a gentle smile. He shook his head; he hated it, indeed. He hoped he wouldn't need to make any phone calls in the next few days. "You've managed to confirm it," she said. "Are you going to visit there?"

"Yes."

"Today?"

"Yes."

She stared at him attentively for a moment before nodding, but something akin to a sorrow showed on her face. It didn't require much wit to guess what caused it...

"I'm sorry. I promised to stay until tomorrow..." Josh said with remorse, lowering his gaze. He felt bad; he didn't like to change his plans if it involved other people's discomfort.

However, Madame Zircon shook her head. "I understand your situation. If you have a chance to clear up this matter at once, you should do so. Today is Sunday, a good day for such things. After weekend it may not be so easy, with people having work, being busy with their duties, and so on. Besides... You will visit us again, won't you?" she asked.

Josh opened his mouth to assure her that he certainly would... and closed it again. He was very bad in visiting again; he knew that. If only he had Alain, he could spend all the time with him... forgetting other people who were important to him or had been important at some point of his life. He used to be enthusiastic as long as he was in someone's pleasant company... but when it was over, he would turn to different things, those around him. It happened all the time, always according to the same pattern... and he still hadn't understood the reason behind it, but at least he was aware of that. That was why he lowered his head and replied with feeling of guilt, "I'll try to."

"And I'll try not to forget you by that time," Madame Zircon retorted with a flash in her eyes.

He felt the corner of his lips twitch... and the next moment they were laughing together.

Madame Zircon told him in details how to reach Toulouse and how long it should take. He was supposed to travel with one train due South and then change to another, going West. If he had luck for the connecting train, he should arrive at his destination around two, three o'clock, which was quite a decent time for a visit, even unannounced. Well, Josh decided he had made understand about staying in contact, but he realised himself it was a very twisted way of thinking.

Still, there was no time waste, so he gathered his things and said goodbye to everyone, resolved to head straight for the station - then, however, it appeared that his departure wouldn't be so easy. Used to the fact that hardly ever people bid him farewell, he wasn't prepared for the situation that suddenly arose. Upon learning of his change of plans, the children objected loudly; he was supposed to stay until Monday! Some of them started to cry, other shout, while other sulked and left. Some related to the matter with understanding and began to hug him, which made the rest to follow their example.

In the end, a very touching scene took place on the yard, and Josh realised he was on the verge of tears himself. When one girl asked him in an importunate yet tearful voice if he would come back, he replied he would - and added in his mind that it would happen much faster he'd expected... and until they managed to forget him. It was only then that he realised - remembered? - that orphaned children didn't like changes... and until they grew up and learned to cope with them, they should be spared such 'surprises'... especially in the form of people suddenly leaving, disappearing. Those little ones had once been surprised like that... placed before the irreversible change that probably had left its mark for ever. Hurting them even more was a cruelty.

Finally, he disentangled himself from numerous arms and walked through the gate, accompanied by general sobbing. However, before departing, he turned around, and his eyes swept over the large group of children standing on the grass. "I'll be back," he said through clenched throat before looking at Madame Zircon over their heads. "I'll be back," he repeated.

The director nodded and smiled gently. Josh turned on his heel and left quickly, absolutely certain he would burst out crying... or change his mind and stay, while he had a business to take care of.

During the first stage of his journey, he could think only of that farewell. His hands were still shaking, and his chest ached when he recollected the embrace of little hands, faces stained with tears, quivering lips... He knew what had moved him so strongly, It was not that someone - children - wanted his presence so much, wished to keep him there and couldn't accept him leaving... Well, that too, of course, but what had shaken him the most was the realisation that had struck him that moment: what impact a change could have - and that those children had been _marked_ just like he had. He couldn't think of it calmly; quite the contrary, he was under the burning impression that something had to be done about it, and as soon as possible.

Did the same future await those little ones? Sure, many things in his life had shaped up well: he graduated from a very good school and studied at university now, and besides he was self-reliant and capable of solving most problems he encountered. Probably many people would consider him someone who did well; when looking from the outside, it probably seemed so. However, when looking at his inside, the picture was quite different. Emotionally, Josh was terribly scarred... sometimes he even said, 'disabled'. It required so little to disturb that fragile balance... to throw him into deep depression and take away all his strength. Even if recently he'd been thinking he managed it a little better, he was perfectly aware that one short therapy couldn't correct all those defective emotional patterns of his and eliminate completely the risk of certain reactions that could drive him into a serious illness - how serious, he could understand during his practice in Sainte-Jeanne. It was his demon, and he could probably struggle with it for the rest of his life.

Would those children experience the same fate? That thought was frightening, and very painful. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy, much less those creatures that had once been terribly hurt. Was it possible to help them some way? To strengthen them so that they wouldn't need to go through the same hell he did? Actually, the truth was even worse... Josh had been, in fact, lucky, for he had found a new family - a man who had loved him and had given him home - and yet, despite that, despite all those years of receiving love, he'd grown up to be such a... freak. What was going to happen with those who wouldn't find a new home and would be forced to stay in the orphanage until they turned adult? Weren't they doomed to suffer? Weren't they already devoid of chances of a happy, good life?

Maybe he exaggerated. Maybe he just expected the worst. Maybe he should first gain knowledge about that - for developmental psychology taught only about what happened in normal conditions - or, at least, think about it calmly...? Yet, it was so hard to dismiss the image of sad faces, tearful eyes... and disillusion, lost trust in the gaze of those that had stayed in the back and hadn't participated in that soppy scene. Those children... and those that had left the spot earlier... They were already treading on the way that led to loneliness, to distrustfulness, to constant disbelief that good things would last. They were in a bigger - and certainly more immediate - danger than those crying ones cuddling up to him and wishing to stop him from leaving.

He shivered. Was it already too late? Was there nothing to do? No, certainly not, he told himself quickly. If only he could speak with them... He knew how it would look; he could imagine that. First he would gain their trust, which could last a longer while... Then he would ask - cautiously but naturally, without any pressure. And then they would talk - about everything, for everything mattered. He would be there to help - for if he didn't, he knew well what would happen to those children. If only he could talk about it with Madam Zircon... She probably knew about it herself and did her best to prevent the disaster, as did the carers working in the facility... But was she aware that the danger was so close and every minute counted? Josh had to make her understand that, explain that to her - the sooner the better. Actually, what was he doing here? And where was he, to begin with?

It was a good thing he thought about it, for it appeared he was reaching the station he was supposed to change on. His train was delayed, so the connecting train - a superexpress - was already waiting... Josh barely had enough time to run on the next platform and jump into the nearest door... and soon he was already riding due West, towards Toulouse, along with other passengers. He calmed his breath and started to look for his seat, which took some minutes, for the train was long, and his car was at the very end, of course. Finally, he managed to squeeze himself past a fat woman to his seat and stared at the scenery of vineyards moving outside the window, as the train gathered its speed.

The change had disturbed his train of thoughts and diverted his attention to the matter at hand... to what he was doing. He reached to his pocket for the note the unfamiliar man had left in the orphanage many years ago. _Ghislain Lavaud._ He looked at the letters but couldn't really feel he was going to meet his relative. His _possible_ relative, he corrected quickly. Somehow, it seemed completely unreal... He caught himself thinking how odd that was - that sudden complication that had appeared in his life. Only yesterday morning he'd left Sainte-Jeanne, planning to go to Idealo via his home town... Yet, since then, he'd already managed to visit the orphanage and was now on the train to Toulouse, where he was supposed to meet with a stranger and relate to the issue of their possible kinship. It was still very hard to grasp all that had happened - and what would yet happen.

He recollected the phone call... 'Lavaud residence,' said the man that had picked up. And he had addressed that Ghislain as 'Monsieur', which meant he wasn't a family member... more an employee... some kind of a servant... Those two things together told Josh he would find more than just a small house with a garden when he arrived there. Should he learn he was a young lord of the upper class...? A heir to a good name and a fortune..? The thought nearly made him giggle, but he remembered the seriousness of the situation and felt anxious again. Who it was he would meet there? How would they treat him? He remembered the saying he'd been indifferent about until now, 'You don't choose your family', and maybe understood it for the first time. If he encountered unpleasant people... what then? Would he turn around and leave? Leave his only relatives in the world? Suddenly, a small house with a garden seemed much more encouraging... much closer and nicer option.

However, to tell the truth, he felt all of that wasn't more than an abstract. Even if he _could_ imagine himself having - once - parents, despite not knowing and remembering them, the thought of the distant family was simply unreal. The only family he'd ever had - even if they weren't related by blood, which had been proved conclusively and still filled him with sadness - was grandfather, Joel Or. He was the only person Josh had felt attached to. And now, when an adult, he had - at least he believed he had - Alain... and that was enough. Alain was enough, and Josh really didn't need any relatives; that was probably the reason of his confusion as he went to meet that Ghislain Lavaud. It was exactly like he'd concluded earlier: even if it was a nice thing to know who his parents were, the matter itself didn't bother him, not on the mental level. He'd lived twenty years with a knowledge of being an orphan, and he had created himself a life. He'd accepted that his parents had died and that he had no family; he hadn't despaired of it, hadn't worried about it... actually, he hadn't even thought about it normally. Even if it was his _part_ \- or maybe exactly because of that - there were no emotions involved. He was sure he'd worked them - or, maybe it was better to say, he'd experienced them - as a child already, and later there had been no place or need for them. There was no reason for them.

Besides, he was almost completely sure that all of that would turn to be a big misunderstanding, and, in such situation, it was pointless to expect any tremendous scenes or disclosures.

The taxi he'd taken at the station brought him to a beautiful quarter, obviously inhabited by privileged people. They passed grand residences surrounded by large gardens, and Josh couldn't not notice his heart was beating faster. He went to meet complete strangers, true... but meeting complete strangers stirred up feelings, too, especially people of the upper class. Josh was more and more afraid of being treated badly... but, he comforted himself, Ghislain Lavaud had wanted to see him for many years. He couldn't possibly drive him away just like that...?

The quarter was big - which could have something to do with the fact that every estate occupied a considerable space - but finally the car came to a stop in front of the proper gate, dropped him off and left. Josh mustered his courage for some time and then entered the property, coming to the conclusion he looked like a moron standing on the pavement and staring at the house. Well, he didn't see anyone who could think such things of him, but better be safe than sorry. The house, like all others, was separated from the street by a stylish iron fence, but the gate was open, so he decided he could go in... and when no dogs appeared to attack him, his gait became more confident. A long rose bed in front of the house, now at the beginning of summer, filled the air with intense scent, and the building itself, two-storey and coated in while plaster, made a good impression... especially on Josh, who had a weakness for a beautiful architecture.

However, he hadn't come here for sightseeing, he remembered when standing before the entrance for a longer while. With some reluctance, he pressed the doorbell, and his heart jumped upon hearing the deep ringing inside the house. Soon, the painted door opened, revealing an older man in a suit. He was wearing glasses, and his thin hair was almost white. Yet, his eyes were bright, and his face expressed a composed collectedness.

"How can I help you?" he asked, and Josh involuntarily clenched his fists.

"I'm here to see Mr Lavaud," he uttered. As the man was still giving him a polite look, he said, "My name is Joshua Or." But those people didn't know his name, so he added quickly, "I come from the orphanage in Paco, Esperanto. Once, Mr Lavaud has visited there and left a message along with the address of this place."

As he was saying that, he realised he hadn't thought of one thing, namely that Mr Lavaud might have _found_ his lost relative long ago. It had been some ten years since his visit in the facility... many things might have happened during that time...! Josh should have explained the matter on the phone, after all... should have asked... but it hadn't even occurred to him...! He'd just boarded the train and come here, maybe in vain, maybe to expose himself to those people's ridicule... Idiot, a complete idiot. Well, if nothing else, he could tour Toulouse, he'd never seen before, he decided hysterically.

All that crossed his mind in just a split second. In the next one, the man moved to the side. "Please, come in," he said.

Josh was deeply relieved; apparently, he hadn't made a fool of himself, and it was already something. It meant that Mr Lavaud hadn't managed to find his relative... and that thought made his heart beat even faster, although he'd rather not contemplate this reaction.

He entered the spacious hall with a marble floor, and the man closed the door behind him. "I am Pichet, a secretary," he introduced himself, turning to him.

"I... talked with you earlier," Josh replied. "On the phone."

The man nodded calmly; he seemed a person that hardly anything could surprise. He gave Josh a sign to follow him. They walked through the enormous hall and stopped at the far end of it, behind the stairs in the centre. "Would you please wait here, sir," the elderly man asked with dignity. "I will inform Monsieur."

Josh nodded, nervousness making his mouth dry. 'Where is your courage, Josh?' he told himself. 'You've already come here, so you can as well go through this one conversation, right? They won't eat you alive.' He tried to focus on the décor of the residence, but it was an impossible task, for his heart was racing and his head was humming, so he preferred to stare at his own shoes.

However, he waited for a longer while and managed to calm down a bit - as much as to know he could control himself, no matter what kind of conversation followed and what its result might be. He had a look at the house and noticed that the interior was rich and beautiful - as far as he could tell - but also silent and... filled with loneliness. Suddenly, he thought there was no-one else but Pichet, Mr Lavaud and himself here. Wide stairs led to the upper floor, where they divided into two balconies with the doors to the numerous rooms, but Josh doubted that those room were occupied. The house was full of works of art - paintings and sculptures, magnificent chandeliers, carpets and curtains - and yet he couldn't resist the impression that all that beauty was wasted here... Maybe it was just his imagination, but... there was no life in this house.

Finally, Pichet returned and invited Josh into the room he'd just left. Josh felt his heart, that in the meantime had managed to return to its normal rhythm, start beating faster again as he entered the place where everything was about to be solved, dramatic as it sounded. It as a sizeable office, currently bathed in the sunlight. It was furnished in a fine style, like everything in the house, starting from the soft carpet on the floor, through elegant furniture, to wallpapers of pastel shades. There were even well-tended house-plants all over the place. On the other end of the room was a massive desk... and behind it, a man in a suit stood still, looking through the window, his hands behind his back. When the door closed, he turned around and stared at Josh, who couldn't see his face, for it was in the shadow, and the light was sharp. For some reason, he imagined that the man's gaze wasn't kind, and gulped. Such thoughts were unnecessary, so he tried to banish them, although he was so nervous he might start shaking any moment.

'Courage,' he told himself. 'That man wanted to see you. And you wanted to see him, in a way. Now you can only move forward.'

"Good afternoon," he said shyly. "I come from the-"

"I know where you come from," the man interrupted him in an unfriendly manner, taking one step in his direction. "I also know that you are here because you think you are my lost relative... My _nephew_. There were many like you coming here during all those years. You shouldn't expect a special treatment," he said, but something in his voice quivered.

Josh could barely hear that through the buzzing in his ears due to blood, that had rushed to his head upon hearing the first words. He clenched his fists and then relaxed them again. Despite that hostile attitude he met with, he decided to remain calm and, without a word, kept observing the stranger... No, _Ghislain Lavaud_ , he corrected in his mind. His eyes accommodated to the glare coming from the big windows, so he could see the man more clearly now. He assessed him to be slightly over forty... but the more he looked at him, the older the man seemed. He had brown, wavy hair, dark-blue eyes, rather delicate features and a trim moustache; if Josh had had any idea how an upper class man should look like, he wouldn't have been disappointed. Ghislain Lavaud would make really nice impression if not for his expression; bitterness, disillusion, and lost hope were visible in the wrinkles around his mouth, in circles around his eyes, and, above all, in his gaze. Although Josh didn't know him at all, he realised that man must have suffered a lot. Maybe it explained his cold, even repulsive, demeanour? Maybe, what struck Josh, he feared to trust and become disappointed again? Oh, he knew these feelings well.

He took one step forward - perhaps to prove that the attitude didn't affect him - but then the man turned again and looked through the window, and Josh could see only his rather slender shoulders.

"There are photographs on the table. Have a look at them and tell me if anyone looks familiar to you," Ghislain said impassively.

Josh stared at his back for a while before deciding to momentarily capitulate; he hadn't come here to fight, had he? He looked around; earlier, he had seen the low table between two bright couches. The thick carpet muffled his steps. He picked up three big photographs and examined the portraits of the three men. All were clad in fine clothes, had their hairs neatly cut, and seemed happy; the resemblance to Ghislain Lavaud was clear. Every one of them would make a perfect father.

"I don't know any of these men," Josh said in a calm, firm voice, putting the pictures back on the table. "However, if anyone of them is my fa- is my relative, then I have to mention I was too little-"

"And this?" the man interrupted him with anger, throwing one more photograph that he must have kept in a pocket. Josh barely caught it and didn't even manage to be surprised at the fact that Ghislain was standing close to him now.

He blinked, staring silently at the portrait of a young woman... a girl with black hair and blue eyes whose joyful smile seemed to declare love for the whole world. Unknowingly, he sat down on the couch, feeling something clench his heart and go up, up...

"I don't know this woman," he said dully.

"Then... why are you crying?" he heard the man's voice, oddly distorted.

He realised the tears were rolling down his face, indeed, and falling on the photograph. He wiped them quickly in order not to ruin the picture and then shook his head.

"I don't know her," he repeated helplessly, "but... she is my mother."

* * *

 _I go to the land of legends - Arai Akino, "Kōru suna"_


	9. Chapter 9

**9.**  
 _ **(und wünsch mir dass ich eine Mutter hätte)**_

* * *

Josh had no idea what had made him say these words. No; he didn't know how he _could_ say them, in the first place. Never before, not for a moment, had he imagined he would one day say them. 'She is my mother.' It sounded abstract... and yet spread warmth and sweetness inside him. He kept looking at the woman in the photograph, absolutely certain he didn't know her; that was what his mind told him, his memory, that conscious one - but his heart knew better, knew more.

She was so young in this picture... she couldn't be older than seventeen. Dark, curly hair encircled her heart-shaped face, and blue eyes were shining with endless happiness. She radiated such an unlimited joy of life that her very sight seemed to heal wounds and ease all pain. He could stare at her for the whole eternity and have not enough.

"Yes."

He stirred at the voice that had suddenly appeared in his world - in the world that had narrowed to himself and that unearthly creature... his _mother_. He frowned and raised his head, trying to remember where he was, which required some effort. France. Toulouse. Lavaud residence. Mr Ghislain in the sunbathed office. Himself... he had come here to ask... and had already been given... the first answer? 'Yes,' that man had said. Yes - confirming his words. Suddenly he felt like smiling - out of that sweetness filling him. Mother. It _was_ his mother. That realisation was so wonderful and so unusual... unlike anything he'd felt so far. He hadn't expected such sensation, he really hadn't...

The man sat down on the opposite couch yet, for some reason, wouldn't look him in the eye, and thus Josh looked at the photograph again, this time trying to retain the sense of reality. It wasn't easy, for that smile would still flood him with bliss, promised the endless good, so irresistible...

"That is my sister... Eliane Vallee nee Lavaud," Ghislain spoke again and went on, "You, in all probability, are her son... my nephew... and your name is Gilbert Vallee."

Josh blinked. He tore his eyes off the picture, his fingers involuntarily clenching on the edge of it, to look at the man. "I'm Joshua O-" He paused. "I am Joshua. It is my name," he stressed with some warning.

Only after a while he realised he had managed to pull the whole sentence together, even if his own voice sounded strange to his ears. Ghislain stared at him for a moment, his brows knitted, and then, somewhat distractedly, nodded. Apparently, he didn't feel like arguing, and Josh felt relieved, although his heart was still beating fast, as if he prepared himself for a battle - and it was really so, in a way. He was Joshua... and didn't want to give it up...!

Gathering his thoughts wasn't easy, yet it worked better than just a minute ago, which bode well for this conversation. He didn't want to behave like a complete moron, while staying in a different world than his interlocutor certainly proved him to be one. Yes, he had to focus on the conversation. "You said... that I'm your nephew...?" he repeated, then pointed at the photographs on the table, without any wish to look at them again. "Then, who...?"

"My cousins. I... That was a test," Ghislain replied, averting his eyes again. "You see... For many years, young men would come here and try to convince me they were the person I looked for. Some of them probably didn't mean harm; they simply looked for their family, just like I did... But there were also some driven solely by the profit motive. I learned how to find them out... They would grab the photo of Bastien or Leonard and cry, 'That's my dad!' But you... when you entered... I knew right away it was you," he said awkwardly.

Josh fixed his eyes on him, even though he'd rather keep staring at his mother's picture. "Why...?" he whispered; he couldn't say anything else.

Ghislain looked away again. His hands moved nervously on his lap when he said, "Because you're the spitting image of that man... her husband." Then he added, "Your father."

Something squeezed Josh's chest painfully, gnawing, trying to burst out... He gazed at the photograph... at the picture of the face that could alleviate any suffering. The gnawing sensation receded a bit, but not completely.

Suddenly, he felt there were so many things he wished to learn... there were so many questions...! And he had no chance to even start asking them, for he was too overwhelmed. He kept looking at those smiling eyes, as if they could give him answers.

"Eliane..." he said in a soft voice, and even the name made him feel warm inside. It fitted her; she couldn't not be Eliane. He suppressed the urge to move his fingers over the photograph. "What happened to her?" he asked involuntarily and blinked when the words rang in the air. "Where is she now?"

Ghislain sat in silence before abruptly getting up. Josh heard the clatter of glass and sound of pouring. He thought distractedly that neither of them was prepared for this conversation, and then focused on the photograph again. Suddenly, he was absolutely certain that it was the only way... the only possibility to look at her... to see her - but this realisation was too close to despair and hopelessness, so he forbid himself it. As long as he could look, everything was fine.

Ghislain came back and put a glass of dark liquid on the table before Josh; then he took his place again. In different circumstances, he would have probably asked what his guest would like to have... but now he'd just served him the same drink. For his part, Josh didn't feel like having anything; he knew he wouldn't be able to swallow it. However, the man only toyed with his glass, too... maybe deriving some comfort and support from it.

"I suspect... that your parents are dead," he said without any emotion.

It didn't even hurt - heard from someone else's mouth, although just a minute ago Josh had feared to understand it. Now he remembered it was exactly what he'd assumed for nearly twenty years. If anything, he regretted that such a wonderful - she was wonderful! - person had already passed away.

"I don't know how and where they died," Ghislain continued. "But I know... I know Eliane enough to be sure that she wouldn't have left her child... she wouldn't have left you alone. I have no doubt about it."

Josh stared at him in silence, and this time Ghislain - his _uncle?_ \- could bear his gaze. Josh tried to find some resemblance between the two of them, but to no avail. However - he looked at the picture again - he didn't resemble that woman, either. Foolish doubt overwhelmed him, and for a moment he felt it was not him sitting here, only someone else... Gilbert Vallee...?

"My father..." he began, but his throat became irritated, so he cleared it before being able to resume talking. "Who was he?" And now that he started, the words flowed freely, "Why are my parents dead? Why don't I know anything about you? Why didn't you people contacted me earlier? Why do you suddenly enter my life and claim things I had no idea about? Why... Who are you, really?" He realised he was getting hysterical, and pressed his lips tight.

He closed his eyes and attempted to contain himself. He was sure he would start screaming any moment... he, who had just told himself he would remain calm. What had he expected, then? A polite conversation? Now it was obvious there was no chance for it. And, if he was right, Ghislain thought the same.

"Sorry," he uttered hoarsely, trying to overcome the pounding in his head. He didn't want to be considered as someone who gave in to emotion at every little occasion... Well, this occasion could justify him, yet some part of him wanted to retain his dignity in _every_ situation. "I'm sorry..."

"No... it's fine," Ghislain replied; apparently, talking didn't come easy to him, either. "I understand what you feel... I think." He took one sip, and Josh noticed that his hand was shaking when he lifted it.

Quite unexpectedly, he felt some sympathy to that man. It seemed that they _both_ were on the edge... That man maybe even more, for he'd been searching for his relative for twenty years... while Josh, for equally long time, hadn't even imagined he could have any. Having a family still appeared like an abstract to him - but that man had always known about it... expected it.

Ghislain took one more sip and put the glass down, and then he started to speak... to tell the story that was intended for _Josh_ and no-one else. He would often stop, and sometimes he would talk quickly, as if he wanted to get it over with; sometimes he would stumble over the words or clumsily try to find the most suitable ones. And even though he tried to remain calm, emotions would find their expression all the time, making his narration very natural. Those imperfections were the last thing Josh could pay attention to... focused on the content... as much as he could focus, which wasn't easy, for he still felt it was a dream, with most matters escaping his perception.

"We... the Lavaud family..." Ghislain started. "Now it's only me bearing this name. My parents are no longer alive... I have some cousins from my mother's side, but we don't really stay in contact; they live far from here. As you can see, we are..." he vaguely waved his hand, "I am quite well-off. Our family has been dealing in trade for generations, and with a success."

Josh nodded involuntarily, his eyes constantly going to the woman in the picture. His mother. It was the real wealth.

"Eliane and I would grow up in this house. Our mother died when we were in our teens. Eliane is my little sister... two years younger. She was the apple in our father's eyes... or, at least, his pride..." Ghislain said thoughtfully. "Well, I was our mother's favourite, so neither of us felt... disadvantaged."

Josh listened to it with a frown. He had no idea things like that happened in the families: that parents might prefer one child over another... It sounded strange. But if no child was neglected in favour of the other, then it should probably be fine, he decided, although he wasn't absolutely sure.

"In truth, our parents were rather strict and demanded a lot of us, especially father," Ghislain emphasized. "They required us to excel in school and in manners, to behave perfectly well... So both Eliane and I tried to please them, even though we had different characters. As far as I remember, I was always serious and responsible, focused on my goals, so I considered Eliane immature... but I probably regarded her from my viewpoint of a big brother," he admitted with some shame. "In fact, Eliane was a lovely child who wished all the best to everyone around her. And she was loved by everyone, too. She could cheer up others, she would smile all the time, and her happiness was contagious. It seemed nothing could break her, for she was able to see the bright side in every situation. I think that it was the way to hide her sensitivity..." he stated, and his gaze momentarily lost its sharpness.

Yes, Josh thought he could see it in the picture: she appeared both strong and delicate. Josh already admired her to no limits... and he had every right to do so - while Ghislain apparently had troubles with it... or at least he had once had, some twenty years ago. His voice was still distant, guarded - or he tried it to be... but in vain, for he couldn't hold back his feelings. The longer Josh listened to him, the more he came to the conclusion that the man felt guilty. Well, it wasn't anything incomprehensible: if he hadn't treated his sister as she'd deserved it, he might have felt remorseful after her untimely death... but Josh suspected there was more to it and that he would soon learn about it, so he listened with growing attention.

"In the end of high school, Eliane started to go out with a family friend..." Ghislain said, and Josh's heart leapt. "He was a son of our business partner, nice and good-humoured man, with whom she could both discuss various things and just have fun, just like young people do. I don't know if they were in love with each other and planned the future together, but our parents had nothing against it. It lasted for some months but before turning into something more serious, it came to light that Louis simultaneously had an affair with another woman, and a child with her, on top of it. After that, of course, he was forbidden to show his face in this house ever again, our father was really mad... Eliane herself laughed at it and said that apparently they weren't meant for each other... but in reality she must have taken it very hard."

Josh realised he was listening to the story completely absorbed in it already... and feeling for his mother, whom he didn't really know. Well, he would feel for anyone in such a situation... and the most perfect being in the world hadn't deserved that at all. He was absurdly relieved at the thought that double-faced bastard wasn't his father... although, now he noticed it, Ghislain had so far spoken about his father in monosyllables and without any sympathy... Ugh.

"It must have affected her greatly, although nothing indicated that at first," the man continued, and there was that guilt in his voice again. "Eliane was like always... but somehow her behaviour started to change... so slowly it was hard to notice. She would no longer go out as often as before, and instead she would spend more time in her room. She would often feel tired, complain of malaise; finally, she stopped to eat with everyone, saying she didn't feel well. The family doctor didn't find any disease, only decided she was exhausted, and prescribed some vitamins. Well, it was her last year in high school, so she studied a lot, preparing to enter the university. We thought she was simply tired of learning and would improve once all that stress was over," he said, looking at Josh somewhat apologetically. "But her condition would only grow worse, until she couldn't even get up from her bed, she only lay down and hardly ever speak... In the end, instead of final tests, she landed in hospital, diagnosed with-"

"Depression," Josh whispered, making Ghislain give him a surprised look. "I... study psychology," he added, blessing his studies that proved a useful justification of his knowledge without revealing his personal involvement.

His thoughts became muddled again, and suddenly he could grasp only one, 'Depression is often genetic.' It seemed he was a hopeless case, predisposed to it doubly: via genes and via trauma...

He shook his head. What good thinking of it could do now? He fixed his eyes on Ghislain again. He wanted to know more...

"Yes," the man replied with difficulty, although he seemed slightly relieved, too. Could it be that he'd been anxious about telling his nephew that his mother had suffered from depressive disorder? Well, in this particular case, he'd been completely mistaken, for Josh knew depression as well as himself... But it was also true that knowledge filled him with conflicting emotions: on one hand, he felt compassion for her... but on the other hand, he was glad he wasn't the only one suffering from it. "But for our father, it was a hard blow. He didn't understand it. He couldn't accept such a disease... such a treatment in this family, in _his_ family. He always considered... mental illnesses as weakness... maybe even as inventions. Eliane's disease was both shame and disappointment. Blot on his reputation and dishonour..."

"Primitive, egoistic bastard," Josh hissed, not caring that he spoke of the father of the man sitting before him, and late, of top of that. Some behaviours, some attitudes deserved condemnation... There were no mitigating circumstances for them.

But Ghislain, after a while, nodded, although rather hesitantly. He drank his brandy up and put the glass on the table. His hands were shaking. "In any case, he couldn't imagine that Eliane stayed and was treated in Toulouse. She had to be sent away... far from here... and in the end she was admitted to the hospital in another province," ha said quietly, lowering his eyes. "Father practically forbade to speak of her. Eliane was recovering, but it was a slow process. All in all, she spent the whole summer in hospital, and even longer. I... I visited her only once," he confessed in a strangled voice, expression of shame appearing on his face. "That time, I have to admit, I used to share my father's opinion. And even if it was my only sister in question, I treated her with distance... I couldn't understand her problem. You see, we were taught that we should be strong... Never give up or pull back. I thought exactly like my father: that all that was only her whim. That instead of going to university and live like any normal adult, she ran away from responsibility and caused us troubles."

"While, in fact, depression is a disease that requires treatment," Josh replied coolly. If that man expected some sympathy, then he was greatly mistaken. Josh felt no compassion for people who discriminated against others... especially some with mental problems.

Ghislain nodded again... and Josh slightly relented when he realised that his... mother's brother probably regretted his actions. And, maybe, during all those years, had changed his opinion at least a bit. "What happened later?" he asked in a conciliatory manner, although his agitation - due to the fact his mother had been treated that way by her own family - had yet to abate.

After a moment of silence, Ghislain resumed talking, but it seemed to be even more difficult for him. "In autumn, Eliane returned home... but not alone. She was accompanied by a man she'd got to know in the hospital. At first, we thought he was a nurse escorting her home... so that she didn't need to travel all that way alone, for no-one came to pick her up. Father didn't care about her treatment being over, while he should have sent a car... Actually, Tristan _was_ a nurse working there... but he came here in another purpose, namely to ask for Eliane's hand."

Josh felt he went pale. His eyes wide, he stared at Ghislain and whispered without a single thought, "Where was that hospital that... your sister was being treated?" - but he was completely, _absolutely_ certain he knew the answer, and his heart pounded wildly.

"In Sainte-Jeanne, a small town by the border with Esperanto," Ghislain replied. "Tristan worked there... and was dismissed afterwards."

Josh covered his mouth with one hand. _Vallee_... Of course he'd heard that name only hadn't paid attention to it, for it was very common... But he had heard them spoken by Madame Montagne, not so long ago...! 'Do you know Tristan Vallee?' she had asked. She'd really wanted to ask, 'Are you his relative?' And later Etienne had told him about that scandal, 'A male nurse seduced a female patient.'

Oh my God...! How could it be possible...?! Incredible, no, completely unbelievable, it just couldn't happen - unless he believed in fate. How could it be possible that he'd come exactly to that place? That of all places in France he'd come to where his... parents had met. And that he'd learned about it now, while just a month ago, in Paris, he wouldn't have imagined his life to change like this. All that sounded like a tale... fantasy... fiction right from the start. Such things didn't happen to real people, no...

Yet, at the same time, it was as if only now he believed that everything he'd learned in the last hour was _the truth_. Tears came to his eyes. 'You're the spitting image of your father.' Madame must have seen it... must have remembered it...! Even if he wouldn't believe that Ghislain Lavaud here, he unreservedly believed Madame. Now there was no going back, there was no other option than accepting that story...

And, paradoxically, the first thought he felt was, 'My poor, poor parents.'

"What... what happened later?" he rasped, wiping the tears with his trembling hand.

"Of course, father refused," Ghislain replied, without noticing his agitation, lost in his own grief. "Eliane was only eighteen... and besides he would have never consented to her marrying a psychiatric nurse... dismissed, on top of it. It was unacceptable, absolutely unacceptable," he said, unconsciously imitating his father's tone. "Then, however, something unexpected happened... Eliane, for the first time in her life, opposed him... and, in the end, father told her to get away. And my sister turned away and did leave. And never... never came back," Ghislain said in a broken voice. "Father prohibited from any contacts with her, prohibited from letting her in, prohibited from answering her calls, and her letters were to be destroyed. In other words, he disowned her. I... couldn't object him... but, in fact, I must have felt that my sister had become someone else, a stranger. That she was no longer Eliane that everyone had once loved. In fact... I rejected her just like our father did."

He covered his face with one hand and took a longer while to overcome his emotions. Josh observed him with his lips pressed tight. Apparently, his ideas of parents as people who always wished for their child's good, were nothing more than fantasy... Still, he didn't plan to accept any other vision. He didn't plan to forgive that. How could they have treated her that way? Was it what a family was for? Suddenly, he no longer wanted to belong to it... he wanted things to become like they had been until now.

Ghislain regained his balance and continued talking, "Eliane would send letters, lots of letters... _She_ didn't want to break a connection, maybe trusted that father would change his mind one day... She must have known he was stubborn, but she probably believed she would be able to win his heart back... However, her letters were destroyed before anyone could read them, just like father had ordered. One of the first was the wedding invitation, that almost gave father an apoplexy. He considered it an offence," he added with anger. "Father died three or four years after those events. For my part, I graduated from university, inherited the company... and realised how empty this house was. It lacked laughter... I became more and more dejected. For some reason, I didn't marry... I haven't found the right woman... No, I didn't even meet any, in a way I kept alone. I only maintained business relations."

For a while, he remained silent before looking at Josh, who listened to this story with conflicting feeling: aversion to that family was fighting in him with compassion for that man sitting before him and telling about his suffering. There was no other option than letting him speak: both for Josh, who wanted to know the truth, and the man himself, for he could spit out emotions he'd been keeping inside for years. Josh thought he was performing a good deed, and winced inwardly; no, he wasn't so pure.

"When father died..." Ghislain clasped his fingers, "I started to call into question some of his opinions, as if I finally became free of his influence. In truth, I had resented him for treating Eliane like that already before, but I couldn't admit it. It took many years for me to realise it: that my grudge against my sister had faded away and that it had been groundless from the beginning... just like my grudge against Tristan, whom I'd blamed for having taken Eliane from us... while it was father and I who had rejected her. One day I made a decision to contact her... invite her back home. Invite her whole family. Eliane didn't even know that father had died. The idea invigorated me, I had more energy, I found a goal and a way to change my sad life, ease my feeling of guilt. I realised I wanted to see her very much. Then, however, I learned that her letters had already stopped coming, and thus there was no address I could look for her at," he added in a lower voice.

Josh stared at him intently and, when the silence prolonged, asked, "But you have... in the end you did learn something, sir?" He didn't feel like calling that man an uncle.

Ghislain nodded, and that tormented expression vanished from his face, replaced by hope; he was reliving what had happened years ago. "It appeared that a human's will can't be strangled so easily..." he said somewhat philosophically. "That there were more people beside Eliane who could act in accordance to their own beliefs. As I succumbed to despair and hopelessness, one of our servants came to me... Hortense, who had taken care of us in childhood, being especially attached to Eliane. I will never forget that moment although over fifteen years passed since then... Hortense, frightened and in tears, prepared for being dismissed right away. handing me one of Eliane's letter, that he'd kept in secret. It could be that moment that I realised how much of a tyrant my father had been, how he had demanded absolute order and hadn't tolerated any objection, only had wanted to dominate everyone around him. I was probably considered as his successor in everything... My reaction must have frightened Hortense even more as I started to embrace her and shout that she'd given hope back to me. But that was really the case," he finished somewhat pompously yet with conviction.

He got up and approached his desk. From a drawer, he took out a sheet of paper wrapped in a plastic foil and gave it to Josh, whose hands trembled. The letter, written in a neat cursive, was dated less than one month before his birth. He looked at the man with a question, and when Ghislain simply nodded, he started to read.

 _My Dear Ones,_

 _I already decided to write to you after the delivery, but I can't wait, since it's still two whole months! I slowly begin to have enough of Bayonne; winters are rather mild here, but the constant wind from the ocean is simply terrible. I'd gladly move inland, and we've already talked about it with Tristan. Of course, it's not possible now, and we can't really travel with a baby, either. Fortunately, spring is coming, so the weather should become more friendly soon... Well, it's a long time until the next winter, and I'm going to trust it!_

 _Our baby should come into the world in April. I don't know if I prefer a girl or a boy; I think it's not important. I already love this little one, but it's Tristan who has gone crazy over him/her. He stokes my belly every day and 'talks' to him/her, in both languages actually. It's really crazy, isn't it? I want to name the baby Gilbert or Clio, after Father and Mother. Tristan has nothing against it, and I have yet to tell him I wish to give the child the middle name after_ _his_ _parents. Tristan's parents died many years ago... and that's all I know about them, for Tristan is rather reluctant to talk of them. It's a pity that the baby won't have a grandmother..._

 _To tell the truth, I feel pretty well, and I hope a childbirth will go smoothly. My doctor says that I may experience low mood after delivery, but for me it sounds like he tries to scare me. I haven't been needing medication for a longer while, and I feel the happiest person in the world, so I can't really believe it might change after birth; quite the contrary, I think I'm going to score a new record in happiness. But it's good that I have such a caring doctor; I feel I'm in good hands. I don't claim that I don't fear birth at all, but every woman just has to go through it. I even heard that some want to have more and more children, for it's so funny. For my part, I'm going to settle with Gilbert and Clio, for now, and later we will see. I'm not even twenty yet; I'll manage to give birth to many children._

 _Apart from that, there's nothing new. Tristan works in the city hospital and likes the place. It's quite close to our home. I make correspondence courses. It seems I must postpone my dream of university studies... but I tell myself I'll have time to study later. The family is the most important. Speaking of what, this winter we took in another cat, although it's the maximum in our flat. The cats get everywhere, and I hope they will spare the cot, at least. On the other hand, if our little one won't have any allergy, it shouldn't really do him/her harm._

 _As you see, my thoughts circle around what is going to happen... but I guess it's rather normal. I wish Mom had been still here; I didn't manage to talk with her about all that. I mean, about becoming a mother. I can only trust that she looks down on me from Heaven and is going to guide me. I became acquainted with some girls in antenatal class, but all of them are primiparas (what a terrible word!) like me, so they can't really support me. Well, at least not in the matter of caring about a baby; as for the mental support, we share it constantly with one another._

 _Now that I think about it, we don't live in the best place for having walks. To get here, you need to climb a hill... Also, you won't reach the nearest park without the same attraction, so I'm somewhat scared by the vision of running with the pram. Well, maybe it will help me to lose weight faster; I put on quite much during this pregnancy. Tristan says it's just more body to love, but I'd rather like to move more easily; at present, I feel I more roll than actually walk. But I think I end this letter here, for I started to write about silly things, and you already know the most important thing: everything is fine with us._

 _Greetings to all of you there!_

 _Yours,_

 _Eliane, Tristan, two cats and Clio/Gilbert_

Josh realised he was reading that letter over and over again, unable to tear himself from it - just as he couldn't resist the feeling that he really wanted to be that woman's son. But... he was, right? That thought - and thought of her - kept filling him with warmth. She was exactly as full of like as her photograph indicated. Even after an episode of depression and a several months long treatment in psychiatric facility! Every word... every sentence and paragraph showed her incredible energy, free vital force... She was so open and trustful, so honest in her feelings and natural... And brave enough to accept everything that life might bring.

A sudden realisation struck him: They were so alike! In that love had been a salvation for both of them... the best cure. Somewhat irrelevantly, Josh decided he would do anything to win Alain back. He wouldn't settle with Alain's decision; he would fight until the end, whatever it might be. He should follow Eliane's... his mother's example...! He had a long way to become so stable... but he couldn't give up!

He shook his head and tore his eyes of the sheet of paper - he still jealously held it in his hands - to look at Ghislain... He guessed the man had memorised the letter's content long ago. "And?" he asked, resuming the conversation.

"Of course, I tried to contact them, but my letters returned. I had no courage to go there, not right away... Maybe, deep inside, I still thought like, 'Eliane was at fault, but I can forgive her and let her come back'..." Josh frowned and stared at him in disapproval, while Ghislain sighed and shook his head. "However, when I still didn't receive any reply, I swallowed my pride and travelled there. I didn't find them at that address, and no-one could tell me where they had gone to. I learned from their neighbour that they had moved out much earlier... with their little son. The old woman couldn't remember the boy's name, but when I suggested it, she agreed he might have been Gilbert."

He observed Josh, somewhat puzzled, and Josh felt strange. He'd been Joshua all his life; he didn't want to give up this name. His parents had called him Josh! He didn't want to be called Gilbert, especially after the man that had treated his own daughter in such a cruel way...! No, Josh would never consider him a grandfather... and he thought with malice he was glad that man was already dead. He wouldn't like to meet him, never...!

"I returned home empty-handed," Ghislain continued. "Soon after, I made an announcement in the newspaper that I wished to contact them... but to no effect. I received no message. Eliane and her family had simply vanished... and my anxiety grew stronger. I reported it to the police, but they couldn't explain their missing either. Nowhere, in the whole country, there was no Eliane and Tristan Vallee... I mean, they weren't registered in any place. They had disappeared into thin air, along with their child. They could have travelled abroad... The letter indicated," he pointed at the paper in Josh's hands, "that Tristan might have been of foreign descent, so I wanted to follow that lead... but no-one would tell me anything in Sainte-Jeanne. He'd been working there for a short time, and yet he'd managed to cause a scandal; no wonder people had wanted to forget him. I suspected that the head nurse knew more, but her lips were sealed and I couldn't convince her that it was a human's life in question..."

Yes, Josh could imagine that perfectly in case of Madame Montagne - or her possible predecessor, who might have been her master. The head nurses probably were alike, character-wise.

"Interpol provided me with no answers. Someone suggested that I look for my nephew in orphanages... although it meant admitting that my sister was dead," Ghislain said in a breaking voice. "Still, that was better than doing nothing at all... and, as much as my work allowed it, I started to tour such facilities, searching for little Gilbert Vallee. Years passed... and it became my habit. At some point, I probably lost hope to ever find my family... and be able to ask Eliane forgiveness..." he said bitterly. "Then, for many years, in large numbers, various boys would come here, claiming to be Gilbert Vallee... They only added to my despair. And to my feeling of guilt. I still visited the orphanages, maybe treating it as a penance... or maybe I simply had nothing else... it had became my way of life. Besides, desisting from it meant giving up... And I couldn't bear it," he said in a low voice, staring blankly ahead. He broke out of his reverie after a while and resumed talking, "I also visited Esperanto, for it wasn't so far from here, but the result was the same... until I arrived at that town... that you've come from, right?"

Josh nodded. "Yes, Paco," he confirmed, although it wasn't necessary.

Ghislain, however, seemed grateful for that remark. "I learned about the strange accident that had happened many years earlier," he said. "And about the boy that had been found around the same time, with no-one ever coming for him and whose identity had been never confirmed. Well, he had since long left the orphanage, having found a new family. They had no documents, but they did remember that the boy's name was by no means Gilbert," saying that, he stared at Josh with some resignation, and Josh only nodded. "There was no possibility to contact him... I regretted that, for it was the very first so strong lead, especially after I saw... _your_ picture in the newspaper," he said in a quivering voice, and Josh only now realised Ghislain was no longer speaking of just some boy only him. But, well, he had recognised him right from the start... while Josh still didn't know whether he wanted to recognise his... _uncle_.

The man straightened up and leaned against the backrest. Looking at Josh didn't seem difficult any more. "Of course, I had no idea how you might look," he stressed, "but there was your age and date of birth that fitted. I asked the local police about that accident... and the victims that couldn't be identified." His gaze lost its sharpness again; it could be he was there again, in that small town where everything had changed for him. "It was the first time that I thought that Eliane and Tristan might have _really_ been dead; until then, I'd still had some hope... It was very hard... to realise I would never see my sister again... my sister who had once been very important to me. On the other hand, I knew it would be some relief if I stopped tormenting myself with that... if I accepted they were gone, and stopped searching... for next five, ten, fifteen years... However, I didn't know if I was allowed to do so."

He fixed his gaze on Josh, who was listening to that confession in silence. He didn't feel a right person to judge those internal dilemmas of Ghislain, but he realised at least as much that they were genuine. He had his own, too. He lowered his head and stared at the picture and the letter he was still holding in his hands. Two conflicting feelings fought in him: that he had obtained the most precious treasure... and had lost it.

"What..." he started and licked his dry lips. "What did police say about that... accident? I planned to go there and ask... but now I am here," he added somewhat awkwardly.

Ghislain nodded. "The car fell from the low precipice," he replied in a faked indifferent tone. "The weather conditions were very bad. The driver probably lost control of the vehicle. The tracks indicated they had tried to brake at a longer distance... But the pavement was very damp, and when they left the road, it was really impossible on the muddy ground..." he added in a softer voice.

Josh tried to imagine that. Had he been on that car? Had his parents realised they could no escape death and... pushed him out of the car? He didn't remember... he didn't remember anything like that... And would never know... But if it was the case, he'd been truly saved. They had abandoned him, doing so had hurt him... but they had also given him life, and two times. His throat clenched, and it took him a while to understand he really believed his parents had been in that car... and had died. 'She wouldn't have left you alone,' Ghislain had said about Josh's mother. It wasn't possible that Eliane lived somewhere, aware that her child had been left alone.

"I heard it had happened somewhere... out of the way?" he said, wondering whether he had heard it indeed. But the precipices didn't use to occur in the middle of towns. "What did they... do there?" he asked, knowing he would never receive the answers.

"They might have lost their way... made a wrong turn in the darkness and gone to some wastes. They probably didn't know that place. If they were surprised by a storm, everything might have happened."

Josh nodded absently. His heart clenched with pain, and that earlier thought occurred to him again, 'Poor parents.' They couldn't have been much older than he now; they'd had the whole life ahead of them, and so much happiness in it... Many hardships, too, but that what living meant. Why theirs must have ended so soon? It wasn't even about Josh having been forced to do on his own - he had managed, after all - but about themselves.

He shrunk, remembering another young life that had faded almost before his own eyes... and thought it was so strange that some people chose their own death while others met it against their will. He didn't want to blame Gilles, but now he felt that the boy had acted so foolishly... discarding the chance for happiness, discarding everything. And those who were left had nothing but sorrow and grief...

Well, maybe not only that. Josh thought that maybe they had also some motivation... even greater desire to live... even bigger confirmation that one should care of that gift that had been given only one time. Now he was sure he didn't want to waste that what his parents had probably died for. Maybe it was the whole purpose of all that conversation... Even if it didn't change anything else, it helped him understand this one thing... intensified this one belief. Maybe it made him stronger.

He took a deep breath and then slowly released the air out of his lungs. He was under the impression he had grown up a little during last hour. As if to agree with him, deep inside the house the clock struck five. Josh raised his eyes and realised the sunlight was coming inside through different windows.

"Would you... would you accompany me by the meal... Jo... Joshua?" Ghislain asked hesitantly, having stared at him for a longer while in silence.

Josh wondered how such a prosaic thing like food could exist in this world... and then nodded. "Thank you," he said. However, he didn't move; he kept shifting his gaze between the photograph and the letter, that were nearly as important as his own life.

"You can keep them," he heard Ghislain's voice.

His head snapped when he looked up at the man and then again at those treasures in his hands... and he had to once more wipe his tears. He had no idea whether he cried over his mother... over his father who had died... or he had simply experienced, just listening, too much to be able to grasp it calmly. Reaching wise conclusions was one thing, but being told such revelations on himself was quite another. It would undoubtedly take many weeks or months to get his mind around it... to accept it... to absorb it deep inside. And those items were a tangible proof... a real confirmation for what he'd learned.

"Can I, really?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"Yes, they belong to you," Ghislain replied, and there was some relief to his words.

Josh grabbed his bag and shove the picture and the letter to the envelope with the grandfather's papers. Then, however, his hands froze... to frantically start looking for his childhood picture the next moment. In the end, the whole content of the envelope landed on his lap - as well as the floor, but he didn't care - but he was already holding in his trembling fingers his image from nearly twenty years ago. However, now he didn't look at it only the inscription on the back. His hands shivering, and his heart pounding in his chest, he compared the handwriting with the one in the letter... It was, beyond doubt, the same...! The same neat cursive, the same letter J with a fancy flourish...! His throat clenched with emotion again, and he had to gulp for a while until he managed to calm down. And then, so unexpectedly and for the first time since his coming here, he smiled, feeling extreme joy and bliss. After all he'd heard, if he still needed any proof - and he knew he absurdly did need - now he had it. Eliane Lavaud, later Eliane Vallee, _was_ his mother.

He found his family. His roots. His origin. He was no longer a creature detached from the rest of people. It was a wonderful realisation.

"Is that..." Ghislain's voice broke into his thoughts.

He raised his gaze and looked at the man, as if he saw him for the first time in his life... and then, without a word, handed him the letter and the picture. Ghislain's hands were shaking, too, when he stared at the both items. He returned them after a moment, and Josh noticed his eyes were glistening, yet the man said nothing only nodded. It could be he was too moved to speak, Josh decided, gathering the documents to shove them into the envelope. He forced himself to do it carefully, for the brown paper threatened to tear apart after all that manipulation of the last two days.

Finally, he managed to deal with it and inserted the packet to the bag again. He looked at Ghislain, who had apparently regained his balance. However, if he expected that the man would comment their, now proved, kinship, he was disappointed, for Ghislain got up and somewhat stiffly waved towards the door. "Let's go," he said, and Josh didn't hold it against him, for he didn't feel like discussing their relation right now, himself.

He didn't believe he could swallow anything, yet the meal appeared to be light and very tasty, and he did start to eat. He was very thirsty and drank the whole carafe of water. There were only the two of them by the table in the beautiful dining-room, and they ate in silence. Even though Josh tried not to think about it, his mind wouldn't calm down only was working at full capacity, trying to piece together everything he'd learned. However, it was a futile effort. What he remembered was the names of his parents... and the fact he'd been a longed-for child... loved even before being born, and he believed it had been so later as well. It seemed to him that knowing it healed all his wounds.

He'd lost his parents, long ago. Now he'd got them back. It was a strange order... but he knew he could accept it. He was no longer a man without roots. And... He was old enough to not need parents... not physically. Maybe he still felt like a child - and he probably acted like one quite often, too - but he was an adult. Every day, he built his adulthood and his life, and didn't need to be cared for by older and wiser.

He longed for Alain again - so much that his fingers clenched on the cutlery, and a moment passed until he was able to resume eating. Alain belonged to his present life... and Josh didn't want it to ever change. He couldn't lose Alain. Just like some time ago - when he'd learned that his mother had decided to discard everything in order to be with the man she'd loved - he decided to do anything to regain... to keep... to save his love. It wasn't time to hesitate any more, to torment himself with the question whether Alain still wanted him... Now, when he'd realised again how fragile a man's life was, he desired to live and be happy even more. Parents hadn't given it to him so that he succumbed to despair and depression... that he suffered...!

After the meal was over, they returned to the office - Ghislain seemed to regard it as his safe haven and stronghold, and it was a good place for having a serious talk - and sat down on the couches again. The light of the afternoon was no longer glaring; quite the contrary, it filled the room with softness, gentleness...

"Would you tell me more about yourself, Jo... Joshua?" the man asked; apparently, he'd thought of him as Gilbert for so long that he found it difficult to get used to the new name. Josh couldn't not recognize his effort. "I'd like to know you better."

Josh blinked, but he didn't consider that request an absurd. Still, he didn't feel like launching in the full story - and he intended to keep his personal life to himself - so he started from the dry facts. His childhood in Suno, with grandfather, who had given him a family name. Seven years in Idealo and education in Saint Grollo Boy's School. Graduating from it with honours, which had enabled him to enrol at the University of Paris, where he'd been studying for last two years. The longer he spoke, the more it appeared to him that he could see appreciation in Ghislain's eyes.

"I'm happy to find my nephew a well-educated person. I can also tell that your manners are fine, and you know how to behave. You seem a... polite and intelligent man," he said, although Josh hadn't noticed himself to show a particular politeness or intelligence; to the contrary, he was under the impression he'd been acting like a boor, and his contribution to the conversation had been limited to the concise remarks. "I feared that you might be... a hooligan since you'd lived in an orphanage... and then had been cared by strangers. There's no telling what kind of people you might have gone to. And now I'm not at all disappointed. Actually, I'm delighted and very satisfied."

Josh stared at him in silence, but something unpleasant stirred inside him. Suddenly, he was under the impression that what he'd feared on his way here - that he met people he would find hard to like - was happening now. It was strange, for he didn't even know that man... his mother's brother, yet he knew instinctively Ghislain Lavaud was not someone with whom he would be on the same wavelength. He was someone who had a different system of values and regarded the world and people in a different manner.

The feeling only deepened as Ghislain went on, "Now I no longer feel reluctant to say it to you... I would like you to stay here. I couldn't ask Eliane... although I wanted to do so. I wanted them to live here... your parents and you. Now I can only ask you," he said solemnly. "I realise it's quite sudden... but you are my only relative... And I am yours. I would have nothing against making you my so- my successor. It is unlikely that I will ever have children... and this house is so empty. Now that I finally found you... I'd gladly share this place with you... It belongs to you as much as me. I'll gladly share everything I have with you. I won't have any regrets about it. Not with someone like you," he assured.

Josh observed him closely. If he'd heard such an offer ten years ago... maybe even five years ago... he would undoubtedly have been delighted. But now... Now he was twenty years old and had his own life. Besides, he would lie if he said that the man's way of being pleased him. Ghislain might claim he would accept him without objection... but he said it only now. Because Josh had proved to be 'worth' of his attention. Would he be... _was_ he going to be equally willing to share his... name and fortune - although Josh didn't need either - when he learned more about him? Reason told him he was being too rash, that he was refusing that man a chance, that he was regarding the situation two-dimensionally himself... But it was his life in question, and he never accepted anyone to squeeze him into tight frames of their own expectations and bestow their grace on him only when he fulfilled them. No, the very thought raised an objection in him, so he knew that his answer could be only one. Would he regret it later?

He realised that tension accompanying him right from the beginning of the conversation - that funny feeling under his skin - hadn't eased even for a moment. Ghislain Lavaud wasn't a man that Josh felt comfortable with. Not now. "Mr Lavaud..." he started.

"You don't need to answer right away," Ghislain interrupted him; it was obvious he didn't want to hear a refusal, while he might have expected it, unconsciously. "Think of it as long as you need. Why, I understand you have your studies in Paris... It's important that you graduate, of course..." He nodded, but the knuckles of his clenched fingers turned white.

Josh didn't lower his attentive gaze. For his own convenience, he could deceive that man as long as he felt like - Ghislain was giving him the opportunity himself - but it wasn't in his nature. He would rather once and for all clear up the matter and make his stance obvious. "Mr Lavaud... Thank you for your proposal," he said calmly. "I'm happy you decided to see me as a... family member. And I'm happy that you told me about my mother... about my parents. You've already given me more that I'd ever expected to receive," he said honestly. "I'm truly grateful to you."

Ghislain looked at him with hope, and Josh, in spite of himself, felt guilty at the thought of what he planned to do. Still, being frank was the most important here, even if it could hurt. "However, I haven't come here to become a successor to the name," he said, realising how sharp his words were. "Even less the fortune. I'm satisfied with my life... just as it is. And it contains much more than university, good manners and intelligence... it contains more things, various things, both good and bad. I don't know if you are able to accept them." He took a deep breath. "I'm not cut out for being a heir to the fortune or name... because I won't be able to pass them down anyway."

Now Ghislain frowned, listening to him, and Josh decided he had to get it over with as soon as possible, so he said outright, "I will never have children because I am..." He hesitated. "Because I can be only with men. And there is one man that matters to me more than anything in my life."

He had expected that: a grimace of repulsion on Ghislain's face. So-called good families used to have problems with accepting such things. 'Mom, Dad... what would _you_ feel? Would you look at your child with disgust?' occurred to him. He thought, however, he knew the answer.

He rose from the couch, although he realised he was simply running away - from that new situation that scared him, in a way. From the change he didn't want, so he used the... _excuse_ to avoid it. Staying here would require the effort he didn't want to make, not now... so he told himself he was doing the right thing - although it was 'right' only for himself. For a split second, he was even relieved that Ghislain didn't say, 'I don't mind it at all! You are who you are, and you may stay like that. I want to be your family regardless.'

"I suppose you want to say, 'In that case, get away from here'..." he threw, looking his uncle in the eye. "At least, that is what your expression says... I will get away, for you imagine that I could be in this family only on your terms... right? And that's something I cannot agree to... just like _my mother_ couldn't and made her choice. I think she never regretted having done so."

Ghislain sat in silence, and now there was an anger on his face... but also some uncertainty... and surprise. Josh bowed briefly to him and made his way to the exit, with his head up. He didn't feel any triumph - was there anything he should rejoice at, after he'd rejected his only family? - only peace that he'd stayed true to himself... lofty as it sounded. Besides, he'd done it only with his advantage on mind, which wasn't something to be praised for.

He was by the front door already when Pichet caught up with him; Josh could hear his steps over the humming in his ears, but wouldn't turn back until the secretary was next to him. The elderly gentleman was clearly shaken, and his voice was breaking when he spoke, "Please, wait... Monsieur asks that you leave your address. Please... Please don't leave like that. You are... you belong to the family...!"

Josh stopped and gave him an intent look, "Please, tell Mr Lavaud that I don't need a family that rejects-"

"Joshua, please!" came from inside the house. Ghislain was standing in the doorway of his office... as much as Josh could tell, very agitated. "Please...!" he repeated, his voice resonating in the spacious, empty hall.

They looked at each other over the thirty metres of marble floor - without any words, for those ringing in the air were enough - and then Josh nodded slowly. Something touched his heart, and he dictated the address to Pichet before leaving with the feeling that his life belonged to him... as well as a silent joy that there was still some hope for him as a human being.

After all, kindness was a better choice than pride.

* * *

 _And I wish that I had a mother - Rammstein, "Mutter"_


	10. Chapter 10

**10.**  
 _ **(I'm gonna live out my life untamed)**_

* * *

Josh jumped on the train to Sainte-Jeanne without a second thought and only on his journey wondered whether he'd done the right thing. Yet, he did feel that he needed some time just for himself - to reflect on all those matters calmly - and thus returning to the hospital seemed the best option. In such state of mind, going to Idealo wouldn't do... Maybe if he'd been a person who turned to his friends when troubled, he would have gone to Erwin in the first place - yet he wasn't. He dealt with such things alone, in _his own head_ ; any other way would feel completely unnatural.

Now that he was already travelling again over southern France, his eyes following the scenery behind the window and not really seeing it, he really felt pleased about not having cut himself off the Lavaud family... _his_ family - even though it was mostly quite a narcissistic self-satisfaction in question. Just as he'd told Ghislain: he didn't need relatives (nor their money) - but if he rejected them completely, it would be a pure cruelty on his part, and he'd never wanted nor intended to treat other people cruelly.

The truth was that he'd panicked, had got scared of his life to change suddenly... of losing his freedom... and his self-determination. How he'd behaved was rather immature - contrary to all those words on growing up he'd said to himself - so he was glad that he'd managed to come to his sense in the last moment. He still didn't imagine himself moving into his... uncle's place - no, it was not an option, and he was grateful to himself that he'd made his viewpoint clear - but did it hurt him to stay in touch? No, it wouldn't harm him, nothing to lose... Of course, there was a possibility that Ghislain would be importunate... would insist on a close relationship... would demand something that didn't fit Josh - but in that case Josh could always end their acquaintance. He wasn't obliged to associate with others against his own will, even if it was the family in question - and knowing that calmed him; he had a back door.

Family... He'd found his family. Relatives. And it still seemed so abstract; until now, his only family had been his grandfather, after all... But now he could no longer ignore the fact he'd had _parents_ , too. The thought of them evoked such a bitter-sweet sensation in his chest... Eliane and Tristan Vallee. Oh, should he change his name now? No, he would never get used to it! Besides... as far as he knew, his name 'Or' was perfectly official. Joel Or had adopted him, which meant Josh had every right to call himself that... It filled him with relief.

His parents... Their story seemed both very touching and very sad. The saddest was that they had died so yearly, at the threshold of adult life. How old could his mother have been? Twenty-two? Father couldn't have been much older. They had overcome difficulties to be together, and everything should have been fine - they'd had each other, and then Josh, too - yet it shouldn't... Josh thought of them with affection. He didn't know them... that was, he did, must have known them, he only didn't remember them - but their story made him feel that way: that he wished he could care for them. They deserved it - that someone cared for them, recognized their efforts, embraced them and supported them. His mother - so cheerful, so bright, so full of life. She must have been a wonderful person who'd deserved to be happy. And his father? Never bothered by adversities, never renouncing his aims; instead, he had appreciated all good that would come to him. Even if they hadn't had much - they'd had to manage on one income, and a nurse's salary couldn't be high - they'd lived a full life and had enjoyed what was really important: love and family. It could be that Josh had inherited it from them: knowledge of what mattered the most, namely presence of a beloved person and possibility to share every day with them, both good and bad times. The place was all the same to him - Idealo or Paris, America or the Moon; as long as Alain was by his side, everything was fine... He'd always thought so and didn't plan to change his mind.

He had used Alain as an excuse... Of course, he hadn't meant anything bad, but now he felt guilty about having done so. No, it wasn't that. He'd simply assumed that his relationship with Alain would be condemned right away and rejected flatly, and he'd used it as an argument. Sure, people who pretended to be his family should know such details about him, right? But it was another thing whether there had been a real need to throw those details into a person's face, demanding the immediate acceptation... and preparing for disapproval. Maybe Ghislain really needed time? He did want to stay in contact with Josh, which meant he didn't consider his orientation as an absolute barrier - which weighed in his favour. Maybe he really _cared_ about the nephew he'd tried to find for almost twenty years...? That thought made Josh feel uncomfortable again, mostly due to his own behaviour during the conversation. Yes, he'd acted both egoistically and childishly, he decided.

The conversation, however, had made him realise that 'family' didn't automatically mean 'bonds', while he'd once thought it to be so. Even if he had lots of affection for his long deceased parents, those people in Toulouse were strangers, and he had no feelings for them. Well, not even 'people', just Ghislain Lavaud... although, it seemed, there were also some cousins... Yes, they were people he didn't know. On emotional level, they mattered as much as anyone he passed by on the street. If everything had been different, maybe Ghislain would have been his 'beloved uncle', someone special in Josh's life... Or not. Josh remembered the split that had happened in that, seemingly splendid, family. Knowledge about how his mother had been treated by her own father and brother, filled him with anger. He realised his view on the matter of parents-children relations was pretty much idealized; nevertheless, he didn't intend to accept behaviours that hurt other people. And he had been named after such a horrible man? Ugh, what a shame! He didn't want to bear a name of the man who had done such a cruel thing to his daughter!

Belatedly, he thought that those name plans apparently had failed; he was, beyond doubt Joshua, not Gilbert. Now he knew it was his mother's hand that had made the writing on the back of the photograph he'd had with him.

On the other hand, he couldn't ignore the fact that, if his mother had had a loving father, she would have never gone to Sainte-Jeanne Hospital... and met Tristan Vallee, and Josh would have never been born. He had to swallow down the difficult truth: that sometimes even bad things could bring about something good - in this case, looking solely from his point of view. It was disputable whether his having been born was a good thing, in a broader meaning than just existence - he'd experienced so much harm that sometimes he would feel that living was pointless, and once he'd even tried to put an end to himself, which still filled him with shame - but recently, if he wanted to be honest, he would rather agree it was. And now that he'd learned - or believed - that his parents had died very young, his own life seemed much more precious. What also helped was a realisation that he really had been loved... that, even though he didn't remember it, he'd been cared for with affection. His parents certainly would have wished that he were happy, not that he wasted his life.

He thought of the accident they had probably died in. What had they been doing in Esperanto? Well, maybe they had been just living. Ghislain had said they had left Bayonne when Josh had been some year and a half - and had sunk without trace. They must have moved... and there was no registration obligation in Esperanto, which could explain why their names couldn't be found in any database. Besides, there was a suspicion that Tristan, even if hadn't directly come from Esperanto, might have some roots there... maybe one parent or grandparent. At the age of two, Josh had known that language, which meant that he must have heard it at home - while Eliane had written in the letter that Tristan had talked 'in both languages'. More and more things fitted, although they didn't really give him anything. After nearly twenty years, it was impossible to find out where they had lived. Esperanto wasn't very big, yet searching for a place where so long ago for a short period of time - half a year - a young couple with a little child had been staying... It was doomed to failure - unless another miracle showed him the way... but he guessed he'd exhausted his limit of miracles already.

In fact, there was only one thing that wouldn't leave him be, and he wanted to clear it up: what his real name was... Or, rather, he wanted to confirm he _was_ Joshua, for Ghislain had confused him with that Gilbert... He took out his mother's letter to find some clue, even though he'd already memorised it. However, when he started to read it now, he noticed he had indeed overlooked a very important fact, and right at the start. The letter was dated February 15, yet Eliane had clearly informed that there'd been still two months until the delivery. It meant that Josh should have been born in the mid-April. Since he'd been born March 11, he must have been a premature baby! There was no other option - except that Eliane, in absent-mindedness that Ghislain had suspected of her, might have made a mistake and written the due date wrong, but he just wouldn't believe it to be so.

In any case, he could rely on that new piece of information. To say nothing of an unpleasant effects it might have had on _him_ \- that was, yet another risk factor for depression! - it undoubtedly indicated a hospital birth...! Then, there was almost one hundred percent chance that he'd been baptised right after being born...! If he managed to pinpoint the hospital he'd been born in, he would be able to find his certificate of baptism... and he would have the answer to his doubts. Actually, it helped a lot. If he'd been baptised in a normal way, in a church, he would have had much more work to do, for the ratio of churches to hospitals was, like, ten to one. If he were to tour all of them and browse through parish registers without knowing his precise date of baptism - and he was a baby boomer, too - it might prove a difficult task.

Still, if he could choose, he would have rather been born full-term.

However, it appeared that being prematurely born hadn't really harmed him, he thought with a surprise. Well, that could be a reason why he was only of an average height, but it wasn't something to be bothered with. He'd known from the developmental psychology that children born prematurely, apart from risk of depression and other mental disorders, were inclined to various physical diseased as well as problems in everyday functioning. He might have, for example, suffered from low IQ and experienced learning troubles, yet, thank God, ha hadn't. (Although, to tell the truth, he was under the disquieting impression that his long-term depression had affected negatively his once famed intelligence, and that effect was significant).

In fact, now that he thought about it, he reached the unusual conclusion he'd been pretty lucky - not unlucky, like he'd used to think quite often. He'd been born prematurely, and it hadn't impaired him. He'd survived the car crash that had claimed his parents' lives, and he'd survived long wandering over the unfamiliar area when still only two years old. He'd been taken in by the man that had cared for him like his own son or grandson, while his childhood might have as well been much worse. And despite having so much risk factors for depression that it should be legally prohibited, he still managed somehow and could find reasons to be happy. 'It is high time that you finished with that self-pitying, once and for all, Josh,' he decided and spent the rest of his journey in a rather optimistic moon, although he wouldn't stop thinking of his childhood and his parents.

He arrived in Sainte-Jeanne past nine. He didn't want to take a taxi and instead went to the hospital on foot. Two hours of walking didn't scare him; quite the contrary, it was a very pleasant thing to walk on a country road under the sky, in the light of sunset, with his head full of thoughts and with time to analyse them all. Actually, some good man returning from the town offered him a lift halfway, so he was home not very late. He was sure he wouldn't be able to fall asleep quickly - emotionally-wise, it had been one of the most intense days in his life - but fatigue did its job, and when he went to bed after the shower, he dozed off right away and slept like a log until morning.

* * *

Out of habit, he waked up at seven, but he felt refreshed enough, and sleeping longer would be pointless. He knew he had a day off and didn't need to hurry, yet he didn't grasp the reason behind it yet. For now, he stayed in the bed, staring at the blue sky outside the window and wondering about the cause of his good mood... It took him a while to remember the events of the previous day, and the memory of his parents spread warmth in his chest again. Although his common sense seemed to have some objection to it, for a moment he felt like the happiest person in the world... Funny - but so pleasant...!

The hospital park didn't cease to delight him, even though it had been just two days since he'd seen it in its full morning beauty. Yet, so many things had happened during those two days...! His life had become so much richer...! Maybe that was why the trees appeared even greener, and everything smelled more intense...? He felt that today he finally was able to accept Gilles' death, that had just crashed him with such a great despair, although he knew he would never forget it... Still, Gilles had made his choice; Josh could make _his_. If anything, he regretted that Gilles would never see again how beautiful the world was on the summer morning.

Madame Montagne frowned when he stood in the door of her office.

"I know, I shouldn't be here," he said quickly. "But believe me, Madame, I was out of Sainte-Jeanne for the whole weekend. I left on Saturday morning and returned last night."

Madame clearly wondered how she should attack his line of defence - especially words 'the whole weekend' must have sounded like a cheap excuse to her ears - but in the end she merely said, "We had a deal that you wouldn't be here until Wednesday."

"We had a deal that I wouldn't be at _work_ until Wednesday. And I'm not," Josh pointed out, which made here press her lips in a thin line and say nothing. "I feel better," he assured her, coming closer on the creaking floor, and then asked hesitantly, although it was the reason for him coming here, "May I... take you a moment, Madame?"

He realised that the head nurse always seemed to wait for him. Contrary to the director's office, her room was tidy, without any folders or papers. She would always sit behind her desk with her hands clasped, and he had never seen her busy with paperwork or unavailable. It was as if she performed her duty solely in her head, while she was in charge of the vast majority of the hospital personnel! Now that the facility struggled against problems, she must have had even more work... Josh grew anxious that she wouldn't be able to spare him any of her time, while today he needed to speak with her so much. What would he do if she refused him?

Madame, however, like many times before, pointed at the chair on the other side of the desk. Relieved, he sat down... and mustered his courage. A sudden thought occurred to him and he blurted it out, "Did you send me away so that I didn't bother you?"

She snorted and replied harshly, "Don't be stupid. Now, what is it you want to tell me?"

He looked at her before lowering his eyes again under her penetrating gaze. It wasn't easy... but, he remembered, he shouldn't take her time more than it was necessary. "Madame... I am Tristan Vallee's son," he said quietly, clenching his fists on his lap.

He was answered by a deep sigh, and his head snapped up. She had her brows knitted, but her expression was hard to read... yet it wasn't a rejection that he'd feared all the time. "But it's not that I lied to you...!" he called. "That time when you asked me... on my first day here. I... I just didn't know," he added in a softer voice.

"And now you've learned it?" she asked, and he couldn't tell whether he could hear some irony to her words or not. He nodded. "Who told you? Someone from the hospital? Maybe from the town?" she inquired, but then checked herself. "No, I'm talking nonsense... It will be best if you tell me everything," she suggested. "If you feel like," she added.

He thought of it and then nodded. He felt he really wanted to share that matter with her... share everything he knew. She was someone whom he trusted completely, despite having known her only two weeks. "I told you I'd used to live in an orphanage. I didn't know my parents, but..."

He launched into a tale about his past and about what had happened during two previous days: where he'd been, whom he'd met, and what he'd learned. He tried to be as concise as possible, for he - a mere _student_ \- had already taken enough of Madame's time during his stay here, yet it wasn't something he could contain in just a few sentences. Madame listened to him intently, with her hands clasped on the desk and her posture expressing concentration. She neither interrupted him, which didn't surprise him - he'd known her as a person who respected others' right to speak and enforced her own as well - nor rushed him, although he'd been talking at least fifteen minutes.

When he finished, the silence fell. "Madame... Did you know...?" he asked, glancing at her shyly, when he could no longer hold his curiosity.

She said nothing for a moment, observing him from under her knitted brows, and then sighed again. "At first, I didn't," she replied. "You declined it, after all. And the family name was different, too... Thus, I thought that your resemblance to Tristan was accidental."

"Then... I do resemble him?" Josh whispered.

She pressed her lips, somewhat annoyed, before answering. "Like two peas in a pod. Only your hair is much darker... undoubtedly after your mother's."

His chest clenched. "Madame... did you... hate my father?" he asked but realised his foolishness right away. Madame wasn't someone to 'hate' people.

A longer while passed again before he heard the reply, "I had a grudge against him for what he'd done. He was a great worker, and the patients liked him... Sometimes even too much," she added mockingly, giving him a penetrating look. "However, after what happened, there was no place for him here; dismissal was the only option... although I guess that all of us wished to keep him here, for it is quite rare to encounter someone... how you say it... filled with such positive energy, which is beneficial both for patients and co-workers. Yes, many of us regretted his leaving, but the rules were clear. It was nothing personal," she emphasised, and there was an obvious request that he believed her in her eyes. "Later, when I learned that Tristan had really married that girl... sorry, _your mother_ ,... Then I became convinced he was a decent man, after all."

Josh blinked. "You knew...?"

Madame nodded. In fact, why should it surprise him? Madame seemed to know everything concerning this hospital, its workers and patients. He felt dizzy of all those questions he wanted to ask. "Madame... Would you please... one say, maybe by lunch... would you tell me more about my father? I don't want to take more of your time now," he muttered with his eyes down, swallowing down the question that was already on his lip, 'Am I like him? Do we have anything in common?'

"I can tell you right away that you resemble him not only outwardly," she replied, apparently reading his mind. "The only difference is that Tristan wouldn't keep asking forgiveness for everything. But, well, he wasn't- His situation was different. However, when things shape well, believe me, you are as enthusiastic as he used to be, and you equally love the whole world. It could be that Tristan, too, was very sensitive, only covered it with his constant smile and vigour. Well, 'covered' isn't a right word. Those things were part of him, were his way of being; they were something everyone could notice in the first place, although there could be something else deep inside... something more."

Josh stared at her again, aware that he looked like fool with such an astonished expression on his face. He hadn't expected to hear something like that. But she was - like most people here - a psychiatric nurse, after all. He didn't know how to reply to such a compliment, so he remained silent.

"But I'll be glad to talk about him, too," she promised. "Lunch is fine with me." It seemed to him that the corner of her lips twitched, but her usual stern expression didn't change. "I suppose you have some business with me now...?"

He stirred. Right, in the meantime, he'd managed to forget what it was he'd come here for, in the first place... "Yes," he replied, licking his lips. He still hadn't recovered from the shock her words had caused... but he had to pull himself together, for getting into some vague moods didn't aid having things taken care of. "It's a bit complicated... but you might be able to help me, Madame. I would like to know what is the hospital I was born in." He explained the matter of his probable pre-term birth. "If I knew that, I would be able to find my baptism certificate. I'd like to know... what my real name is," he confessed quietly with a sudden fear that Madame would consider his request childish. "Is it... possible? I realise it's about using the official channels for private reasons, but... maybe you would like to help me?"

She gave him an intent look. "In compensation for having dismissed your father?" she suggested.

"I didn't think that way," he murmured. "But... can it be done?"

"Of course. It's not a problem for our secretary to call two or three hospitals in Bayonne and figure it, since we know your date of birth and your mother's name," she said. "She can also request that they send the copy of your baptism certificate, if they do have it," she offered. "It would be here in no time."

Josh was relieved; the most difficult part was past him. Again, he was struck by the realisation from before a few days: that recently he'd been encountering only kind people... "I don't know how to thank you, Madame," he whispered. "How come you are so good to me?" he said on impulse.

"You consider me good?" she asked in a tone as if she'd just heard an insult; however, Josh he didn't believe anyone in the world would be offended by calling them good.

"I do," he said. "After all, I'm just a student..."

She looked at him askance, raising her eyebrows. "Then, students don't deserve to be treated well?"

"Now you confessed it," he replied with a smile, feeling that throat-clenching emotion had receded. "I'm truly grateful for your help and support, Madame... It only proves your great heart that you treat a student that way, too. I think such things should be said loudly," he claimed, hoping he managed to return her earlier compliments. "Yes, I'll be happy if you could help me with that hospital matter," he said somewhat solemnly.

She spent another moment staring at him in silence, but this time it seemed to Josh she inwardly struggled with herself. Finally, she sighed and opened the drawer. "If it's only name that interests you... then we won't need to call anywhere," she announced, putting out an envelope and placing it on the desk in front of him.

He gaped at the yellowed rectangle - addressed to _Mme Marianne Montagne, Sainte-Jeanne Hospital, Sainte-Jeanne_ \- having no idea what it might be... but unconsciously he realised it was something of great importance, and his heart beat faster.

"After our first meeting, I searched for it at home," Madame added, "for your sight stirred an old memory... and I _made sure_. Please, look in."

His hands trembling, Josh took the envelope and withdrew what it contained: a single photograph of a smiling young man with very light eyes under the mop of golden blond hair, holding a small bundle in his arms. On the back side was written a few sentences that he managed to read in spite of stinging in his eyes.

 _Dear Madame,_

 _I know that you certainly bear a grudge against me, but you must know that it is not mutual, and that is why I dare to write to you. 11th of March, Eliane and I became parents. The boy was born prematurely, but everything is all right now, and the doctors stopped worrying about him. Eliane feels well and sends her greetings. We gave our son the names 'Gilbert Joshua', after our fathers, but we call him 'Josh', for Eliane said that it fits the little man the best. Once he grows up, he may choose himself the name he prefers. Eliane insists that the boy resembles me, but in my opinion he resembles his mother more, with those dark hair and very blue eyes. Well, with such parents, he will undoubtedly grow up to be a handsome man, although I hope that he won't be such a lady-killer like his father, and he will find his love in more acceptable circumstances. For my part, I have no regrets about having worked in Sainte-Jeanne, for it brought me two most precious things. I hope that you will be able to forgive me one day._

 _Respectfully yours,_

 _Tristan Vallee_

"Then, you knew," Josh whispered when he was finally able to speak. "And despite that, you were so nice to me..."

"I don't see any connections between those two things," Madame replied curtly, but then her voice betrayed her, "Do you resent me for not having mentioned that?" she asked in a softer voice.

Josh shook his head, his eyes fixed on a tiny and somewhat angular writing that had defined his reality anew. "You mentioned it _now_ ," he replied quietly. "Thank you."

She only muttered something in reply. He turned the picture and stared at his father, with emotion as great as one day earlier when he had seen his mother's portray. Tristan Vallee... They were really alike. The same face shape, the same eyes, brows, and nose. Lips stretched in a smile.

"Madame... Was my father... always so merry?" he asked after a moment.

"Always," came the firm reply. "For that short period that he stayed here, I got to know him as a very cheerful person living a full life, as if he didn't want to have any regrets."

Josh nodded. "Just like my mother," he said, never taking his eyes off the photograph. "You must remember her as a patient in a very bad condition... but yesterday I saw her picture from before her illness... and I read her letter from behind my birth... She was full of life, happy... They really did find each other," he added and tried to smile but failed at it, and instead he whispered again, "Madame... Do you think they would... accept that I am this way? That I'm not... normal...?"

"That was the most stupid thing I've heard from you during _our_ short acquaintance," Madame replied outright. "Explain me what you mean," she added, irritated.

Josh raised his gaze on her. "You know... That I don't like women," he replied.

Madame stared at him with a frown. "Do you consider it something not normal? Do you really consider yourself not normal?" she asked, putting her fingertips together. "What does it mean, 'normal', to begin with?" she threw testily.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I don't like that word."

She nodded. "Good. In psychiatry, we don't like it either, for it's a colloquialism that does harm to people we take care of here," she pointed out warningly and implying that he'd rather not use it. "As for your question... Tristan was one of the most open-minded people I know, that's one thing. The second is that working in psychiatry requires higher lever of tolerance than presented in general populace. And the third..." She waved at him. "Just look at that picture and ask the same again. For me, he looks like a father that would do anything for his child, don't you think?"

"There are many kinds of fathers..." Josh tried to protest, but he didn't really know why he did it, so it turned out rather weak.

"In that case, believe what you want," Madame replied coldly, obviously annoyed with his doubts. "I told you my opinion. But I'm going to ask you this: Would you rather be, like you said, 'normal'?"

Josh looked at her and then shook his head. "No. I am who I am." 'And I'm proud of it,' he wanted to add, but bit his tongue. It really wasn't any reason to be proud... not more than hair or eye colour... "But I would like others to accept me the way I am... At least people who are important to me. But no, I wouldn't like to be different. I can't imagine it." 'And I have Alain,' he added in his mind, albeit without relation to anything. In a way.

"Then you see," Madame said in a voice cutting short.

Unexpectedly, Josh felt like smiling. He felt lighter at heart, although he suspected that a longer while would past until he was able not to become all sentimental at every thought or remark on his parents. Still, he was all right now; talking to Madame seemed to always improve his mood, more or less. Actually, it was something else: Madame used to put him in his place whenever he managed to get too emotional; such was her way of being, yet he never, not for a moment, doubted her good heart.

He cast the last look at his father's beaming face and grabbed the envelope to put the photograph back.

"You may keep it," Madame said, just like Ghislain one day earlier.

"But it was sent to you," he noticed.

"Let's say that I kept it for you. And," she added, looking him the eye, "I'm really glad I could meet you. That I could meet that boy from the picture, Tristan's son."

"Did you forgive him?" Josh asked on impulse, smiling shyly.

Madame shrugged. "There was nothing to forgive," she said firmly. "It was his life, and no-one had to say anything about it. I often say myself that, before anything else, we are humans. But I have to admit that I felt relieved only upon learning that he really had married that girl... that it wasn't... a flirt. Otherwise, he would have been a truly despicable man."

Josh nodded. The more he thought of his parents, the stronger he felt there was some beauty to their story. He knew he would store it inside him like something both precious and unusual. Because he hadn't taken any conscious part in it, it seemed to him more like a wonderful tale... but it was good this way, too.

"I'm sorry to hear that they probably have been long dead," Madame continued. "I think that I believed, all those years, that I would meet Tristan again. That one day he would be around and stop by... go through that door with that smile of his and tell how he'd been doing."

"And instead I came," Josh said, unable to hold back his smile. "In any case, I'm no longer surprised that you welcomed me the way you did. Tristan... my father must have made a great impression on you."

"That was rude, Mr Or," she replied at once, straightening up in her chair. "He might be handsome, but it doesn't mean that all women sank to their knees before him. Not every one," she emphasised, but he could swear she blushed.

He burst out laughing, and the corner of her lips twitched as well.

"Then, do you still wish to see that baptism certificate of yours?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, I no longer need it. But I'm really grateful that you were ready to help me."

"Then tell me, what are you going to do now?" she changed the subject. "You were supposed to be off," she reminded him.

He put his elbows on the desk and gave her, hopefully, a convincing look. "Madame... I think I can already resume my work," he said slowly. "I really feel much better, and besides... I'd like to complete that practice period on time. I like this place, but I think I found something that fits me better..." He told her of his visit in the orphanage and his wish to somehow help the children living there. "I have no idea if I can do it, but I want to try, at least."

Madame observed him with her earnest eyes. "I think you should listen to your heart," she said. "If you feel it is what you want to do... and that you will manage well, then you should by no means try. Even if, in the end, you make another decision, it is the most important that you have tried and seen for yourself. Only you can tell what it is that you are the best in." She took a calendar. "In that case, if you're going to return on the ward tomorrow, you will finish the next Tuesday. It will be your last day of work. Do we have a deal?"

Josh thought of it for a moment before nodding. The plan sounded good, but one think disturbed him. "Thank you, Madame. But... won't Director be upset...?"

"He will have to survive it," Madame replied wryly. "Ah, but you don't know about the message we received last Friday. Fourth-year student is coming here at the end of month to stay the whole summer. From Toulouse," she added in a meaningful way. "He is going to specialise in clinical psychology."

"Oh," Josh said. "I suppose he will be of great help to the hospital. He must know much more than I... And if he is interested in clinical psychology, then he would certainly know what to do."

With a stern look, Madame waved her hand on him. "I don't like it that you depreciate your skills and your work," she said. "Knowledge is one thing, but attitude towards the patients is as important. Yours cannot be faulted. I haven't heard that anyone complained; contrary, everyone has been speaking of you very well so far: the doctors and the nurses, as well as the patients and their families. You should understand that the crucial thing in psychiatry is how you treat people. It may be what matters the most in the treatment process. When a patient feels that someone cares about him, it gives them strength to fight the disease. And you do care; that's obvious."

"You shouldn't praise me so much," Josh muttered, though, of course, he was pleased to be told such thing.

"Why? You fear that it goes to your head, and you become self-conceited?" she threw with merciless irony. "I'd like to see that. Joshua, you must not belittle yourself like that."

Josh lowered his head and murmured something vague in reply. He knew she was right... but it wasn't something he could easily change only because he realised it.

"Back on the topic," Madame went on, apparently deciding to leave him me, "maybe in that time we will find a new psychologist, for a permanent office. If not, maybe we will manage to persuade that student to come here from time to time after his holidays, too, if only for short periods. As far as I know, the final year of master's degree isn't overloaded with classes, so maybe he would take the offer... But these are things that don't concern you," she noticed.

"Right," Josh agreed. "But it's going to make me feel relieved upon my leaving here, so I'm glad you've told me." He looked at his watch and saw it was awfully late already. He jumped to his feet. "I'm sorry I took so much of your time, Madame... I'm grateful you've talked with me."

"Don't forget about lunch," Madame reminded him in a stern voice, as if all his kindness was like water off duck's back, but then she nodded, accepting his words.

Smiling, Josh nodded back and left.

On his way back - bursting with feeling that the world around was truly beautiful - he realised beyond doubt that the last few days had very much strengthened him mentally, while they could have broken him instead. Now he felt clearly he had gained something very valuable: a strong will to live that, he knew, would stay with him longer than just until the first adversity. It was up to him how he would take care of it, but he felt motivated to nurture it and never let it fade, motivated to change his attitude and learn to appreciate life as it was, and never again regret being alive; never think it would be better to disappear for good. In difficult times, he should remember what he had learned about his parents and his first years of life, and derive comfort from that, as well as hope and belief it was worth to go on.

It didn't meant that he suddenly had stopped needing Alain, although such a conclusion could have been easily drawn - after all, until now Josh had very strongly based his own existence on Alain's presence, nearly seeing all sense in it alone. No, by no means he intended to give up on Alain when every thought of him made his head spin and his body burn. After the last events, he desired Alain twice as much, and in every possible way. Now it was clear to him that he hadn't been born to suffer, only to obtain happiness with his own hands, and Alain _was_ his greatest happiness. Actually, he'd always thought so, but sometimes he would give in to the feeling of hopelessness and believe he was doomed to failure in everything he did.

Now he was going to put an end to it, he decided. He would no longer run, he would no longer fear that happiness would end any moment if he did some mistake, but he would no longer strive for perfection, either. Living didn't consisted only of right choices; people used to make mistakes as well. The same applied to a relationship: if he believed in a preternatural bond of souls or perfect love allowing no errors, then he was already fighting a losing battle. It couldn't be always joy; sometimes there was a shadow instead of light. No-one demanded that he were happy in hardships, but it was crucial that he didn't give up, didn't become discouraged, only sought for solution. There wasn't a situation that couldn't be dealt with. If they encountered troubles in their relationship, they needed to find the cause... or simply wait it out, not fall into depression, ask 'Why me?' or complain that his happiness had been so short, in which he truly excelled.

He was important for Alain. They had been together four years - not exactly _together_ , but in one another's life nonetheless. Even when apart, they couldn't have forgotten each other. And later... Alain would often give him proof of his feelings, Josh had to remember that. To tell the truth, the more he thought about it, the more he realised how much _love_ Alain had given him in the daily life they had shared for the last year: with his gestures, words, actions... everything. He wouldn't notice it, not then, maybe had taken it for granted, maybe he'd considered it a natural thing... and now he nearly felt overwhelmed when he thought of it. No, such love like Alain's couldn't end just like that; his behaviour must have had another reason. Alain still loved him, and Josh was completely certain of that, as he was of that Alain would be _back_.

He should think of how he would welcome him. With calm, with joy, with smile. They would talk in a friendly manner - about everything they would like to and would find significant. He would ask where Alain had been and what had been doing over that time; how he'd been feeling. Josh would tell about himself, about what he'd been thinking and was still thinking. Without accusing, without reproaching, without lecturing or threatening, though it would be good to straighten all things out and think together about their future: what they wanted from their relationship, what they hoped for, and what they would rather not have. Then they would go for a walk or sit on the couch. They would prepare a meal and eat it together. Everything would be like before, like every day, for that daily life they shared was the most precious for Josh. They would enjoy one another's company and later, if they felt like, they would end in each other's embrace, once more together... once more _one_.

Three days later, on Thursday morning, when he left to work and ran into Alain just outside the house, then hurled himself in his arms and began to kiss him with passion that probably surprised them both, he thought distractedly that long lasting depression obviously had made his brain shrink so much that his ability of imagination was nothing more than a sad memory. However, somewhere in his mind was a thought that he just couldn't plan everything - and this time realising it didn't displease him.

"I've finally found you," Alain whispered in his hair once the moment of their private eternity was over.

"Welcome back," Josh replied with a smile, enjoying the feeling of being closed in those strong arms, and then added, "Better late than never."

And both of them burst out laughing, which more than anything else proved that another difficult time was past them.

* * *

 _Abingdon Boys School, "JAP"_


	11. Chapter 11

**11.**  
 _ **(kimi to hitotsu de itai)**_

* * *

The sound of the door being closed waked him for good. That drug was really nasty; after he took it, he could sleep until the noon of the next day. Nah, maybe not so long, especially after the dose had been reduced... but still, as long as he was on it, he could as well forget about being fresh and energetic in the morning. Well, it wasn't so bad, since he was able to wake up when Joshua waked up; before, he'd really used to sleep like a log. Not that him being awake now did any trick; he would just lie and open his eyes from time to time, maybe even say a thing or two. He hoped Joshua appreciated it.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table - nine o'clock. Joshua had left for his second exam; he would be back in the afternoon and finally have his holidays. How he used to say: he intended to forget about his studies for the next few months and enjoy the summer. Alain had yet to tell him about his plans to take one month off himself. Surely, Joshua would be happy, which pleased Alain, too.

Although his body objected, he decided to get up and clean himself; some breakfast would be a good thing, too. Every morning he seriously wondered if he really had to take that drug, but Joshua watched him, so every night he would swallow down another pill, although he didn't see any need of it. True, he'd landed in a nut house, for he'd supposedly fallen ill... but he couldn't remember a thing from that time. He felt perfectly fine, so it was beyond him why he should take those pills, but he kept taking them for the sake of peace. That doctor had said it was just one packet, so he had to bear with it for now.

When sitting by the table and eating, his thought darted again to the boy who had long ago turned his head. Fortunately, _that_ was a very pleasant madness... but not all the time, though. Alain would rather not remember those horrible three years without him - although, in fact, he'd never managed to break free from him, no matter how much he'd wished to... But had he really? In fact, hadn't he realised, when still in school, that Joshua was the best what had happened to him? He just hadn't wanted to accept it, and thus it'd taken so long until he'd given to this feeling.

He didn't regret a single day together. The last year had been so incredible that he would sometimes ask himself if it was really true. If he'd ever been happy, it was now, during that life they shared in Paris. He felt he had his haven, home, a place he could be in - beside the man who had mattered to him more than anything under the sun. He still couldn't grasp it why someone like Joshua had taken note of him... wanted him... and after all that Alain had done to him, too. In his eyes, Joshua was someone much better than he, someone almost perfect, and in every respect. Alain adored him as a whole. His fabulous looks: slender frame, pretty face under the mop of dark hair, and those amazing amber eyes. His intelligence, enabling him to study at one of the best universities in the world. His courage - and his inner innocence he hadn't lost despite anything they'd been doing. His mental strength - and his equally great sensitivity that Alain had only recently (that was, during the last year)started to see.

No, he had no idea why Joshua wanted to be with _him_ \- but he believed him, for when they were together Joshua would radiate happiness of having been given the most precious treasure. Alain would do anything to keep that smile of his. He would do anything to make him happy. He never wanted to hurt him, never again. But why would he? The difficult time was past them; it was going to be better and better from now on.

After breakfast, he took a shower; it washed away the lingering drowsiness. What should he occupy himself with? Tidy up the house? No, it was rather clean. Maybe he should prepare the meal for the two of them? Joshua would be hungry after the exam. Hmm, what do we have in the fridge...? In the end, he decided to do some grocery shopping, for the weekend was near. And he had better do it now, before it became really hot. Joshua would drag him for a walk anyway; he wasn't disturbed by the heat at all... maybe he'd been a lizard in his previous life...

He was locking the door when the one to the left opened a little, and he saw a pair of eyes staring at him suspiciously. Right, they had a neighbour... a musician, if he was correct. He'd completely forgotten about him, since there'd been no sounds coming from behind the wall. The man's name was Francis, wasn't it? However, along with the name, he remembered something else: that he'd supposedly attacked that person during his illness. He had no memory of it whatsoever... and wouldn't think of it on a daily basis, but now he suddenly realised it and felt appropriately bad. Once, he wouldn't have bothered about punching one or another block, but now - in his new life, it seemed - such behaviour no longer suited him. He'd better clear the thing up, as soon as possible. He was already lucky enough that the neighbour hadn't charged him with an assault.

"Good morning," he started in a hopefully apologetic voice. What was that man's family name? Um, it was on the door. "Mr Vidal... I'm sorry for what happened last month," he said outright; there was no point in beating around the bush. "I... was unwell. I didn't control myself." Easy to say, since he couldn't remember a thing about that... "I see that you feel better," he stated, although he couldn't see much in the shadow. "But I really regret what I did. How can I compensate it to you?" he asked as it seemed the most proper thing. Debts should be paid right away.

Francis kept observing him intently, but he opened the door a bit more; apparently, he understood Alain didn't plan to jump him.

Alain realised - remembered? - he didn't like that man. Of course, it didn't explain assaulting him, yet the reason for that must have been added to his lack of positive feelings towards the neighbour. "Please, tell me what I can do for you," he encouraged although he'd rather end this conversation.

"I don't need anything from you," Francis replied in a hateful, but also somewhat squeaky, voice. "I only wanted to see if you were still raving mad."

Alain froze... but quickly told himself that getting angry was pointless, especially that... well, his actions _couldn't_ have been normal if he'd been taken to a mental asylum. "And?" he asked, coming to the conclusion that, actually, he felt amused. Holding back his smile, he remembered what Joshua had told about benefits of a psychiatric treatment. "How do I look? Do you still feel like staying away from me?"

Francis uttered something between a snort and a hiss. "That's what I wanted from the very start," he replied in disgust. "You have mean eyes," he added frankly. "No, what amazes me... and what I just can't gasp is why _he_ stays with you. After all that happened... He isn't normal either. A normal person would've been long gone."

Alain straightened up. Insulting him was one thing, but insulting Joshua was quite another. Now he was no longer surprised he'd bashed that git. "Joshua and I have a past," he said in a cool voice. "Good past, but also bad. He knows that-"

"I thought better of him," Francis interrupted him, apparently having taken courage, "but now I see that there's something wrong with you both. You disgust me, you pricks!" he threw, and there was no doubt that he really felt so.

"I'm sorry that you're forced to live next to us," Alain dawdled. "But it's high time to accept there are couples like us in the society... male couples."

Francis goggled at him and clearly chafed. "For God's sake, do I have anything against the queers? I'm an artist!" he called with some pride, although Alain thought that a third-rate one. "I meet the likes of you every day. But there's a difference between a relationship on equal terms and abuse or violence, no? Yet he doesn't care at all, only keeps being happy. And that's what makes me sick!"

Alain frowned. Apparently, other people could have delusions, too... "I think there's some misunderstanding," he said slowly. "I assure you that I never raised my hand against Joshua and-"

"What?!" the musician yelled. "You beat him unconscious so he was black and blue for days, and yet you try to sell me that bullshit? Man, get real! Do you think I'm some kid? Half ot the tenement saw what you did to him, so don't play with me! You're a bloody bastard! I don't want to have anything to do with you! Go to hell, you dickheads!"

He tried to close the door, but Alain held it open almost unconsciously. "What I did?" he asked in a dull whisper.

Francis, who tried to pull the door, froze and looked at him in disbelief. "Wha-"

"What have I done?" Alain repeated. "I have no memory of what had happened... so damn it, man, tell me what I did to him!"

Fear flashed in Francis' eyes, yet it soon turned to some triumph - but Alain could barely see it. Something was crashing his skull, making it impossible to see normally... hear... think. His head was thumping with some horrible realisation he'd rather run away from...

"First you slammed him up against the wall with all your might," Francis said with an obvious satisfaction, "and then flew at him to strangle him. It was obvious you wanted to kill him, that's what you shouted. I suppose you would've done it if the police hadn't stopped you," he added with a grotesque smile. "Maybe both of you experienced very convenient amnesia, and that's why you still play that private paradise of yours?" he stated ironically.

Like in a dream, Alain stepped away, staring at the man as if he saw him for the first time... and then turned back and hurled down the stairs, trying to stop the scream breaking from his throat. Yet, no matter how long he ran, he couldn't deafen those words ringing in his head, 'You flew at him... Unconscious... You wanted to kill...' He kept running, wanted to flee from that knowledge... for he knew it was a truth...! Someone like Francis could have lied to him, but... for some reason, Alain knew that all the man had said was real... although he remembered nothing...!

He stopped in the middle of the street and lifted his both hands. They were trembling. He had them to protect and care... to make happy... to give pleasure... Yet, with these hands he'd hurt... the best person in the world... the man who meant everything to him...! Once again he'd proved he didn't deserve to have him...! He should keep away from him... for obviously he still wasn't capable of... not hurting him. There was a beast inside him, and he couldn't control it, so it kept raising its head again and again... destroying everything on his way... no matter how precious to him it was...!

He had to leave! He couldn't look him in the eye. No. He had to protect him. He wanted to protect him from all the evil in the world... but, in the first place, he had to protect him from himself. He would leave here... at once! Now, when he was still out...! He would vanish from his life. That thought clenched his heart with pain... but it was the right thing to do. He would leave to tame that beast, to never let it control him again...! Maybe that fight was doomed to failure or would last as long as he was alive... but he had something to support him in it.

He turned and ran back to the flat. His hands trembling only little, he unlocked the door and searched for the drug that suddenly had become his mainstay. How could he ever have thought he didn't need it? If those pills let him retain his senses... he would gladly take them until his end...!

And maybe one day... Maybe one day he would be able to return here... Here, that meant wherever Joshua was. But until then Joshua would probably arrange his life without him... and that thought was so painful. He didn't want to leave...! He wanted to be with him...! Life without him... wasn't a real life. But if he were ever to hurt him again... then he would rather choose death.

He held the packet of drug in his hand as if it was his last resort and tried to calm down... but to no avail. In the end, he ran out of the flat, but on every stair he jumped the impulse to escape struggled with the impulse to stay.

On the second floor, the door was opened, and an old lady emerged in the staircase... Mrs Bonnet, whom Joshua seemed to like. He stopped. The thought of Joshua filled him with despair. He didn't want to leave him... He'd promised he would never leave him...! _He had promised...!_ How could he leave now...? But he couldn't stay... he really _couldn't...!_

"My! If it isn't Mr Alain...!" the neighbour called out upon seeing him, but it seemed to him that there was fear in her gaze.

She withdrew into her flat. Without thinking, he grabbed the door and held them open, paying no attention to the fact the woman turned pale. "Mrs Bonnet... Would you... Please, tell him I... I need to go!" he said despondently. "I can't stay here. Tell him that, I beg you. He should be back some time after twelve, but I... I can't wait for him, no... Tell him not to look for me. I'm sorry to ask you this... but will you do it for me? Will you pass him my message?"

He realised his speech was confusing, but he hoped the neighbour would understand him. He wasn't able - he simply wasn't - to pull the elaborate sentences together, to articulate clear statements... he could barely speak... utter normal voice, not a scream, that was ready to escape his lungs.

The elderly lady nodded, although she was still wearing that frightened expression.

"Thank you, thank you..." he said and stepped back but couldn't leave, not yet, even though every cell in his body urged him to hurry. "And tell him I'll be back," he added with difficulty. He'd had to force himself to say that, to overcome that crushing need to vanish once and for all. "Tell him I have to cope with... with one problem... but I'll be back. I'll be soon back. Tell him not to look for me, I'll be back." And the more he said it, the lesser pain he felt in his heart. "I'll be back," he whispered.

And then he turned to run away, rushed by fear and guilt, and realisation that the sooner he left, the sooner he would be able to return... Once he had enough courage to look him in the eye and ask forgiveness.

It was on the train that he could think more lucidly - and was no longer sure that he'd made the right thing. He'd left Joshua alone - and that thought burned like fire, with anxiety, with fear. He'd left him, although he'd promised to always be with him. He'd promised that in circumstances that he still couldn't recollect without a shiver. How would Joshua react now? Would something like that one year ago in Idealo not happen again? Suddenly, he felt like stopping the train and getting back to Paris, but he forced himself to stay where he was. He'd sent him a message. Everything would be fine. Joshua knew he would be back. It was the most important thing.

Now Alain had to focus on convincing himself that he deserved him. He had to think of something... make a plan... to never again allow the situation he hurt the man he loved more than anything. He need to cut himself from everything... like ringing phone... He turned it off and pocketed. He needed to find himself a right place, a _safe_ place... He was on his way there - though at first he'd been astonished that his thought had turned in that direction: to the place he'd never wanted to visit again. Joshua would certainly find a wise psychological explanation for that, he would never cease amazing him with his knowledge and way of thinking...

Joshua! His heart clenched again. He already missed him... but he knew that some time would pass before he dared to show himself there again. Some time... He should be back in work in the early June, so he'd better return to Paris in the end of May. Two weeks... Two weeks would have to do. Two weeks without Joshua... It seemed like eternity. But it was for the good of them both, he told himself... and wondered why he fabricated such lies...? The truth was he just ran away.

The place hadn't changed at all and was still as sleazy as he remembered from the short period he'd lived here a few years ago. He wouldn't care about it then, but in the last year he'd tried quite another life... wanted it to be filled with light and warmth... Such dull alleys, shabby tenements where people of gloomy faces lived... He no longer felt good here. But the staircase was rather clean and didn't smell of urine.

His heart heavy in his chest, he climbed to the third floor and rang the bell, annoyed he had to do it. But then again, it wasn't his home any more - and he didn't really regret it.

She opened the door, wearing her usual silky slip - this time red, contrasting sharply with her light curls and green eyes. Despite her age she was stunningly beautiful - except for her character that was anything but beautiful, he knew that perfectly well.

"What are you doing here?" she asked point-blank, frowning her thin brows. Nice welcome... but had he expected any other?

"I came for a few days," he replied angrily, though he realised he was imposing on her. "Two weeks, at the most."

"Two weeks? You could've warned me at least," she grumbled, letting him in. "They no longer wanted you in Paris?" she added bitchily.

"I'm happy to see you, too," he retorted, looking around the room that had hardly changed since the last time he'd been here. "Are you alone?"

"I am. After Mr Corail, I lost my interest in men. I can finally enjoy some peace. What about you?"

"What about me?" he asked provocatively.

"Whatever," she waved her head vaguely. "I heard you were in hospital...?"

He turned to her. "How do you know?"

"When I tried to call you once... I think it was the last month... your friend answered," she said mockingly. "By the way... he called me today again. He asked if I knew where you are."

Joshua...! The thought of him was red-hot... and didn't fit this place at all. Joshua was light and pure, and here was gloomy and dirty, sad and dull. Joshua belonged to another world... but Alain had left it to return to the one he deserved better. Oh, Joshua... I want to be with you!

"He's not my friend..." he muttered.

"That's what I thought," she said. "I told him you had no friends... And I suppose I was right if you're here out of the sudden."

"God, do you always have to be so mean?!" he exploded, then sat down on a chair and grabbed his head with both hands. "He's not my friend... He's my... my..." How could he say it? How could he say that Joshua was so close to him that someone he seemed to be part of him? He mused over it for a moment yet didn't think of anything, so he just said, "We are together."

"Well, you probably _aren't_ , not any more," she commented.

He raised his astonished eyes on her. "And you have nothing else to say?"

"What should I say?" She shrugged. "I couldn't care less who it is you live with... sleep with... whatever. Sometimes I feel like finding myself a girl, too; I'm totally sick of males."

He stared at her almost shocked. Sometimes she seemed so alien he felt like addressing her simply 'Lilian'. It was hard to think of her as mother, for she'd never been a perfect image of one... yet she was the only mother he knew and had. "It doesn't offend you?" he uttered.

She shook her head, making her rich locks bounce, and folded her arms, giving him a critical look. Her normal look. "If anything offends me, is that you left him without a word to come here. You're a bastard, Alain," she said frankly.

"Damn, you have no idea of it!" he shouted with anguish.

"True. And I don't really want to have any," she muttered. "Are you hungry? I'll make you something."

"I am," he grunted. "But I think I need a psychiatrist the most."

"A psychiatrist? How will a psychiatrist be of use?" she called from the kitchen.

He got up and followed her. "When I was in hospital... I was in fact in an asylum," he confessed... and, for the first time, he felt there was a reason for that. He overcame a shiver.

"My," she said, putting the pan on gas. She seemed what he'd said didn't bother her. "Because of?" she asked in a voice that could have possibly showed any less interest. He knew that well, too.

"I hurt him... I deluded something," he replied quietly, sitting on a stool and fixing his eyes on the floor. "I'm all right already... but I have to bounce back."

"Why here?" she inquired snappily.

"Where else? I couldn't stay there... Should I go?" he asked provocatively.

"Now, since you've already come, you may stay," she replied smoothly. "I think we will somehow manage... and won't get in each other's way. I've just started my summer holiday," she threw over her shoulder. "And I plan to enjoy it," she added warningly.

He nodded absently, feeling both relieved and disappointed. "I'm not going to disturb you... How is your work?"

"Fine," she replied, stirring the pan. "But I still fear they would start giving me night shifts again. I've had enough of them..."

"I know... I'm sorry..." he blurted.

"What are you sorry for?" she asked in surprise, turning to him again and raising her brows. "Besides... I never expected to hear something like that from you," she muttered, resuming her doings.

He waves his hand, but something made him say, "You had to do night shifts to provide for me... to pay for my school."

"It's a matter of the past," she replied, shrugging. "Now I can enjoy my life."

"And you do enjoy?"

She looked at him, squinting. "Nothing can beat the peaceful daily life."

He nodded. It was true. He missed his daily life... the one he shared with Joshua. He knew that gnawing sensation in his chest wouldn't go as long as he was far from him.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" her surly voice interrupted his thoughts. "Not that I'm particularly curious, but since we see each other once in a year or two, it would be nice to know how you do."

He nodded again... and then, with mixed feeling of reluctance and gratitude, he began to summarise the last year.

* * *

"Running away won't help you," the psychiatrist said, having listened to his story. "I agree with your doctor. Liability to dissociation is not something that can be cured with medication... nor something that would disturb you in your daily life, either. If I am correct, you are in a satisfying relationship? You have a job and in general you enjoy the good health, right? I think that the best way to maintain your good mental condition is simply normal life. Dissociation usually comes to the surface in situations when something is wrong, when the normal state of things is disturbed. If you are sensitive to those situations, that means you are able to notice them, then you should manage without developing a psychosis. Your partner is also of great importance, for he can see changes that may escape you, especially after that last episode. You say that normally you're not an aggressive person? In that case, I'm of the opinion that, if the general situation is good, the risk of losing control over yourself and starting to hurt people around you is minimal. You should trust it. You don't want to spent the rest of your life, fearing that something bad would happen, do you? You should return to Paris as soon as possible, before your fear grows too big. As for what happened between you and your partner... He didn't give to understand, at any point, that he didn't want to be with you, isn't it right? If he had considered your disease to be a serious obstacle, he would have parted from you, don't you think? However, if you still have doubts, I suggest that you undergo a therapy to merge your personality into one and reduce the risk of dissociative behaviours. However, you have to realise that, on one hand, it's a long-term process and, on the other hand, there is no guarantee of a complete recovery. That's why I think that the best treatment would be normal life... and accepting that none of us is perfect. There is light and shadow in every man. If you accept it, it will be easier for you. Let me ask you: What is the most important thing for your partner?"

His throat clenched. "That... we're together," he replied quietly.

The psychiatrist nodded. "You should never forget that."

* * *

Talking to a doctor calmed him a bit, but he still wouldn't return to Paris. Leaving this safe place was hard, even if everything in him screamed for Joshua. Things with his mother shaped amazingly well, especially taking into account how they'd been until now. For some reason, her behaviour didn't unnerve him like it'd used to, though he wouldn't call her a nice person yet. She belittled him all the time, yet he often felt she did it simply out of habit. For the most of time, she seemed she didn't care about him and his life in the slightest... He couldn't tell which was worse. Sometimes he wondered what Joshua would think of her...

His thought didn't stop to circle around Joshua. He thought of him day and night, dreamt of him in sleep and awake. How empty was a bed without that slender body that, when he held it in his arms, made him the happiest man in the world. How drab were days spent alone, devoid of any sense... devoid of that smile...

What was he doing here? Why wasn't he there? _With him?_ Now he couldn't even contact him... He'd cut himself off completely, had denied himself the only joy, so thoroughly.

Did he hate himself so much that he willingly condemned himself to such torment? But he did deserve to be punished, for what he'd done... Even if no-one else wished to punish him, he had to see it through. He had to do his penance.

But would he succeed?

* * *

He hadn't visited a church for many years, but when he passed one by, something made him come in. His feet took him to the confessional box, its door encouragingly opened. He didn't intend to confess, but suddenly he had a need to talk - undoubtedly, a result of spending eight years in a Catholic school.

"If you did wrong, you must ask for forgiveness," the priest said from behind the grid, having listened to his worries. "There is no such wrong that cannot be forgiven. That person is dear to you, and you are dear to them, right? Then you should have faith in your love, should trust it. We all err, and none of us is without a blame, but the most wonderful thing in life is that, despite our imperfections and flaws, we are able to move forward and support each other. What makes it possible is our ability to forgive, that is an inseparable part of love, and both forgiving and being forgiven help us develop, help us become better people. However, before you are ready to ask for forgiveness, you must forgive yourself. Lord says that we love ourselves, for who doesn't love himself, he cannot love others. Hence, soften your heart and search for that love that everyone of us has, thanks to our Lord. Since He loved us, how can we despise ourselves? Have faith and courage. You are as good man as everyone."

He listened to it and understood every word, but... he thought that the priest demanded too much.

Forgive himself?

Will he ever be able to?

* * *

For the next few days, he tried to find an answer, but just couldn't stop feeling disgusted with himself. He was loathsome. No; he couldn't forgive himself for what he'd done. The only thing that could help him was being forgiven by the man that mattered everything for him.

Would Joshua forgive him? If the roles were reversed - which was very hard to imagine, but he tried nonetheless - would he be able to forgive? And replied himself right away, 'No, there wouldn't be anything to forgive.' Affection filled his heart.

But he'd hurt him _once again_... and then had disappeared, on top of that. What if Joshua had enough of him? Had enough of not being able to rely on him? For not being able to trust his promises? What if Alain would find the door locked after he returned to Paris? Something like that would be understandable... and the very thought made him feel cold. Someone like Joshua deserved better, deserved a person to stay by his side... and not vanish on a whim.

* * *

"How long are you going to be here?" Lilian snapped at him one afternoon.

"And how am I disturbing you, exactly?" he called annoyed. "I help you with everything you ask me. I changed your curtains, hung up those damn paintings and shelves, I even took out the Christmas tree...!"

"I can't go naked at home," she replied.

"Oh, don't mind me," he responded right away. "At present, all I think about is certain _man_. I don't plan to bother with women. I wouldn't even look at you."

"Don't imagine I would fancy someone like you," she retorted.

He blinked, staring at her in bewilderment.

She stared back and blushed. "It wasn't a decent talk," she admitted in the end.

"It wasn't," he agreed, feeling his ears burn. "Are you really my mother?" he asked, somewhat abashed.

"I am," she muttered, still red. "Besides, it wasn't a Christmas tree, only a withered dracaena. Back on the topic, though... Don't you think you should return to Paris already? Your boyfriend certainly cries his eyes out because of you... Unless he already forgot about you... which wouldn't surprise me," she added mockingly.

He said nothing.

"And what really happened? You battered him once... It's not the end of the world. Mr Corail used to batter me on a regular basis," she tried another approach.

"You know, you're not the best person to give me such advices," he struck back. "You keep complaining about him, and you're happy that he's dead. I don't think you liked it so much when he battered you," he noticed, feeling the familiar pang in his chest.

"Maybe you're right," she agreed. "I only try to tell you that the problem won't vanish if you sit here and cry over it. For God's sake, Alain! If you already found someone who _wants_ to be with you, you should cherish him!"

"I know that all right," he grunted.

"Then what are you waiting for? Get off your arse and run to him to apologize!" she exclaimed. "Is it really so hard to understand? You are twenty-three, not three! Do you still need a mother to tell you what to do? What ever have you come here for? You're a real pest...!"

He jumped up from the coach and glared at her, although deep down he knew she was quite right - which enraged him even more. "I don't need, you old hag!" he yelled. "I'm fed up with listening to you. No use staying here. I can't stand you! I already thought you weren't that bad... but now I take it back! I'm leaving!"

She smiled contentedly, which upset him even more. He turned back and went to the door just like he was. She followed him to the hall. "Next time, you should both come," she said.

He looked at her in anger - he was sure she mocked him - but her gaze was calm. He gave a short not - feeling relieved, for some reason - and left, realising he should manage to catch the afternoon train.

* * *

The journey home lasted many hours, but if he thought he would manage to calm down, he was mistaken. The thought of seeing Joshua soon was like fever. In a superexpress, he couldn't even open a window and cool his head... but, to tell the truth, he didn't believe it would help him. Mother was right; he should have returned home much earlier, should have returned to Joshua... No, he shouldn't have left, in the first place. He should have stayed and begged for his forgiveness... begged to be allowed to atone for the wrong he'd caused. There was nothing he wanted more than to _be_ with him...! He would do anything to be with him...! And he would do anything, if only Joshua accepted him again... opened his arms to him... If only Joshua wanted him... for without him Alain was no-one. It was still not too late, right? Why was this train moving so slowly?

The flat welcomed him with silence. It didn't take him long to understand that Joshua had been absent for several days. He spent a terrible moment, feeling that Joshua... had left...! Had moved out and gone away - and Alain didn't know where to look for him. It was nothing strange. Alain had left him without a word, had disappeared just like that - despite the promise to always stay with him. Joshua had had enough... enough of Alain constantly hurting him... Never before had he felt such a contempt, such a disgust to himself. He had known how much his presence mattered to Joshua.

What if... what if Joshua had done something to himself...? That thought chilled his blood, and suddenly he felt like screaming out of panic fear and impression he had no idea what to do. He remembered that day in Idealo, almost one year ago... That dread, paralysing, clenching his insides, burning a hole in his chest... That day, he had just barely made it, just barely... Had he been one second late, there would have been no life for him. And now... now...? What should he do?!

However, as he examined the flat, he understood that Joshua had packed up and gone somewhere. His clothes and personal items lacked; everything else - among other things, books and university materials - was on place. Then, he had left on a journey - but where? There was no message... Who could tell him anything? Maybe the neighbour from the second floor...?

He ran there to ask, but just as he came to stop, two girls emerged from her flat and locked the door. "Mrs Bonnet... Did anything happen?" he asked.

"Grandma is in hospital," a skinny brunette informed him, looking at him with her vigilant dark eyes, and put the key into her bag.

He didn't know what to say. The girls observed him for a moment but, having received no reaction, they went downstairs.

"Did you take that letter?" he heard their voices.

"I did, I did..."

Letter! Post! Maybe there was some mail...! He didn't really hope there would - but little hope was better than none...! He returned to the flat for the keys and ran down. Yes! The letterbox was full! Probably some flyers or bills... No, a real letter! Addressed to him...! From... from Joshua! He could barely hold it in his trembling fingers.

He was so relieved he nearly sat down on the stairs, but he checked himself and went up... wondering for the four floors if he wasn't holding a... _goodbye_ letter. No, it sounded too macabre...! He meant, the last message from Joshua... information of their parting, nothing more than that... although it stung almost as much. He looked at the return address - Sainte-Jeanne...? Where was it? He opened the envelope and began to read, although the letters kept moving before his eyes.

After he finished, he slumped on the coach, for his legs no longer supported him. Everything was fine. Realising that erased all tension he'd felt for last hour. _Everything was fine_... or, at least, had been - he glanced at the date - last weekend... Joshua had gone to Sainte-Jeanne, wherever it was, to have his practice. And would be back...! Nothing indicated he wasn't going to come back... nothing indicated that anything had changed between them. Every word showed his love... and longing... He read the letter again, and again, and again... relishing the warmth spreading inside him... soothing pain and driving away anxiety - how sweet emotion after all that fear, after all that nightmare. Joshua still wanted him and hadn't relinquished him at any point. He felt he'd been given the greatest present - and despite not being a good boy.

Oh, why had he done such a stupid thing... why had he given up such love... such happiness? Would he ever learn to face his own fears... his own flaws with courage?

He sat on the couch until it became dark. Then he finally grabbed the phone and called the train inquiry to ask how to get to Sainte-Jeanne. He took a quick shower and decided to get some hours of sleep before catching the first train to the place that he knew nothing about and that mattered nothing to him - except that the whole sense of his life was there.

* * *

The hospital was beautiful indeed, just like Joshua had described it in his letter, but Alain hadn't come here to admire the scenery. Once more, he was in that fever that only one man could ease. He'd come here for him, wanted to meet him so much, to see him... The very thought made him shiver; he longed to take him in his arms and simply stay with him. The longer they were apart, the worse it became... the more he realised his place was by Joshua's side. He was attracted to him by forces he couldn't help - and didn't really want to, although he'd sometimes tried to. Now, all those reasons seemed simply stupid.

But now that he was here - a taxi had brought to the main building and had left - he didn't know what to do. Where should he look for him? Ah, Joshua had written: 'an acute ward' - so the easiest way was to go there and ask... but for some reason he was reluctant to do so. Thus, he simply stood there, staring at the big windows... and then decided he was acting suspiciously: a stranger standing in the yard of a psychiatric hospital and gaping pointlessly ahead. Some fear - maybe of being mistaken for a patient? - made him move to the side, amongst the big trees growing in abundance. Here, he could think calmly... Calmly? He was lying to himself. He hadn't been calm for last two weeks.

The best would be if Joshua came here himself - that was the only conclusion he made after a quarter of thinking. He realised he was behaving like an infatuated teen who kept returning to the place he could meet his beloved person... only to have a look at them, enjoy seeing them without revealing his presence. Mother had been perfectly right, saying he'd been acting like a kid... but now this thought no longer made him angry.

He walked amongst the enormous trees, trying to straighten his feelings out and urge his brain to operate. He _wanted_ to see him... make sure that everything _was_ fine. But what then? Joshua planned to spend here the whole month, and, himself, he should be back at work on Monday. In _Paris_. How could he reconcile those two things? He couldn't... He felt dejected. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier? But he'd had to come here...!

The voices broke his reverie; some people were moving towards him. He glanced from behind a tree and saw - not really believing it, yet filled with immense affection - no other than Joshua, walking along the sandy path...! How could it be possible? Who listened to his wishes and granted them right away? It was Joshua...! _His_ Joshua! Wearing his usual dark trousers and white shirt. Always so lean - hadn't he lost some weight since the last time? But his hair was glistening in the sunlight, and he had his happy look in his bright eyes. He was as perfect as always.

How could Alain had survived two weeks without him?

Joshua was walking in the company of an elderly man in a seemingly hospital clothing. The patient wouldn't stop talking on every possible topic - as Alain could hear him - and sometimes even several at once. Joshua was listening to him intently, focused, absorbed, yet tuned to the man, and the warmth he radiated was almost palpable. Alain was observing him and just wouldn't have enough. The delight the sight of that slight figure induced, struck him now and kept him on the spot. And, at the same time, he was once again crushed by the guilt for having hurt him.

"There's a man," the patient said suddenly, and Alain instinctively moved back behind the thick trunk.

"What are you talking about, Mr Leroy? There's no-one there," Joshua replied cheerfully.

"He's concealed himself," the man insisted. "He's standing there and lurking on us."

"Mr Leroy, last time you saw the agents of a foreign intelligence no-one else could see in your room, so you have to forgive me; I'd rather stay sceptical," Joshua stated with a gentle firmness.

"But someone is really there," the elderly man muttered but obediently followed Joshua when he moved towards another part of the park.

Alain winced. 'He's lurking on us,' honestly... Now he couldn't show himself. He wondered what had made him hide. Maybe it was that fear, that nasty feeling of guilt, that gnawing realisation he didn't deserve that splendid creature...

But he had seen him - and that knowledge filled his chest with a wonderful warmth. Joshua was like always - although something about him had changed. So far, he'd been just _his_ Joshua... and now, in this place, with other people, he behaved _differently_. He had his duties here. He took care of the patients. It was obvious he applied himself to it very much, concentrating on those people and his task. Alain felt proud of him, which was quite funny. Then, maybe: he was proud that the man doing such an important job here was his beloved one.

He returned to Paris with the first train and spent another week, wondering about his own stupidity that he couldn't help. Still, something told him he shouldn't obtrude... shouldn't disturb. He resumed his work - the owner of the shop was pleased to see him - but couldn't think of anything else than going to Sainte-Jeanne again, for his longing grew bigger day by day. On Friday evening, he boarded the train due south, this time determined to meet Joshua and finally talk with him. Finally tell him everything, finally apologise... and beg for forgiveness. And maybe be given what he'd been desiring for those three weeks: love, tenderness, closeness.

He went to the hospital as soon as Saturday morning. He rang the bell of the acute ward and asked about Joshua.

"Our invaluable psychologist? Currently, he's out," the nurse informed. "He's on a leave. The head nurse said he won't be at work until Thursday."

Feeling of disappointment weighed on him like a heavy burden. "Do you know where he is?" he asked in a quiet voice; he felt like crying out of frustration.

"As far as I know, he planned to go somewhere..." the man replied, scratching his head. "To Esperanto, I think. He's coming from there, isn't he? He mentioned about visiting his home town... I'm sorry, I can't really help you," he said and, being given no response, closed the door.

Esperanto... _Where_ in Esperanto? It was a terrible letdown. Why now... when Alain had finally decided to meet him and nothing could persuade him otherwise...? Why he had to be out now? But whose fault it really was? Only Alain's... Why had he delayed? Why did he always have to complicate things? Why was he so hopeless in everything?

Well, it wasn't important... Important was that he wouldn't be able to see him...! He missed him so much he thought he would go crazy. The idea of returning to Paris - to the empty flat - was unbearable. 'Joshua, where are you...?' he called in his mind, leaving the building.

Esperanto... Should he look for him there? But where? In Idealo? Or somewhere else? Home town... He'd never asked where Joshua came from. Should he now tour all towns blindly? For a moment, he was ready to do it, in order to do something, _anything_. To hope that maybe he would meet him in the next town.

He could call one place, at least, although he was very reluctant about doing so... but now it was too late to be picky. He sat down on a bench in the beautiful hospital park and dialled the number.

"Hello?"

Of course, _he_ had to pick up. Talking with the girl would be easier... she wasn't so abnormally possessive and protective about Joshua. "Alain Corail here," he started casually, but the his voice quivered, "Is... Joshua there?"

"Alain?! Did anything happen?" Erwin asked outright. "No, he's not here. I haven't heard from here in a longer while. Did anything happen? Why should he be here?!"

Alain clenched his fingers on the phone. "He planned to go to Idealo... and we somehow missed each other. And he has no cell phone, too."

"That's true, but... Did anything happen?" Joshua's friend asked for the third time.

"Damn, nothing happened... I know you hate me, but there's really no need to suspect that I did something to him!"

"I didn't say that," Erwin muttered with offence. "What do you mean, you missed each other?"

Alain didn't feel like explaining it. "If he's not there... then it's fine." Well, it wasn't fine, but what else could he say?

Silence fell on the line, and only after a moment he heard the reluctant voice, "If he shows up... I can let you know."

A feeling he hadn't known so far welled up in him and made him say, "...Thanks."

The weight on his heart diminished a bit. Then he decided to go home, and familiar dejection returned. He could blame only himself.

* * *

The route between Paris and Sainte-Jeanne became all too familiar. The worst were those hours on the train he couldn't spend in any other way than reflecting on his own wretchedness. They used to say that when a person got to know themselves better, it was only beneficial. _Joshua_ used to say that... Yet Alain was under the impression he thought of himself even worse.

Only Joshua's presence by his side gave him any worth. With Joshua, he could feel a better man... and treat himself better - for Joshua accepted him unconditionally, replied with a smile to his smile and with love to his love. Gave all himself to someone like him! Needed him, wanted him in so many ways - and simply was happy because of Alain Corail.

Why did he understand it only now?

No, not 'understand'. He'd tried to understand - and failed. For three weeks he had struggled and couldn't find an answer - yet it was not something to be grasped by reason, he realised it now. It was a feeling - to be accepted, not analysed. There was no questions and answers, no causes and results, no conditions and demands.

It was love.

And it was pointless to struggle against love; one could only surrender to it... and enjoy it, for it made life more beautiful. Perfect.

He was told where to go, and seven o'clock had just passed when he was already standing in front of the building and waiting for the man that made _his_ life perfect. There had been no more wonderful day than this June morning, in this splendid scenery. And when Joshua appeared in the doorway... and hurled himself into his arms without hesitation... and reached to his mouth... then Alain thought that, even if he spent the rest of his life as a fool he really was, at least he wouldn't spent it as a fool who had rejected his chance to be happy.

The first step to accepting himself was difficult... but maybe everything would be easier for him from now on.

* * *

 _I want to be one with you - SPYAIR, "Last Moment"_


	12. Chapter 12

**12.**  
 _ **(yakusoku nado iranai)**_

* * *

It took Josh several minutes to come down on earth and remember he was about to go to work. Without thinking, he dragged astonished Alain along - after nearly one month of separation, he didn't want to part with him even for a moment - and ran to Madame Montagne's office to beg for a day off because 'he had an important guest from Paris'. He planned to shamelessly use to his advantage Madame's belief he worked too much... but, then again, he should have been on a leave this week, shouldn't he? Madame gave him a stern look yet agreed - on the condition he introduced that important guest to her. Thus, Josh asked Alain inside, without explaining the degree of their relation, but the glance Madame cast at him, told him clearly she guessed it nonetheless. Well, taking into account the fact that Josh was quite beaming, it would be hard _not_ to guess.

"Where would you like to go?" Josh asked somewhat helplessly once they were on the sunny yard again. "What would you like to do?"

Alain said nothing, only shook his head, and something in Josh leapt at that sight. After a moment, he identified that sensation as happiness that to Alain it was all the same; that only Josh's presence mattered to him... He grabbed his hand and headed for the more secluded part of the park. He felt like staying outside, and the hospital ground had plenty places that made it possible to be in the two without worrying that someone might interrupt them. They walked towards one of them: a retreat by the wall enclosing Sainte-Jeanne hospital, covered by the lilac bushes.

They sat down on the grass, side by side... but then Alain pulled him towards himself, and the next moment Josh was lying on his chest, embraced by those arms that he would gladly stay in for ever. He closed his eyes and gave in to the feeling of perfect bliss. It had been too long since the last time... but he didn't want to recollect it, for only 'now' mattered.

"We've become awfully romantic," he murmured on impulse.

"You don't seem to mind it, though," Alain whispered in reply.

"I don't, not at all," Josh said, shaking his head. "I'm glad you're with me again."

"Are you?"

Astonished, Josh raised his eye-lids and looked in Alain's face and his green eyes that were so close he could see that dark spot between the eyelashes. He loved him so much this moment - and when hadn't he, really? - that affection seemed to burst him from inside. What Alain had said, sounded like a joke.

"I am. Have you doubted it?"

Alain blinked, averted his eyes and then looked at him again. "But I... I treated you wrongly," he said so quietly that it was actually a whisper.

Josh overcame an urge to stroke his cheek. "Well, true, disappearing without a trace for a month isn't anything nice..." he replied with faked indifference. "Especially for a person left behind... But, as you can see, I survived."

Alain blinked again. "I'm not tal-" he started and then frowned. "Without a trace? I did leave a message."

Josh gave him an intent look. "If you're referring to Mrs Bonnet... Our poor neighbour got an illness attack right after meeting you and she managed to tell me only that you'd had to left and I shouldn't look for you. Then she was taken to hospital and, eventually, forgot altogether that you'd had that talk," he explained in the same voice as before. To tell the truth, he could talk about it without emotion. It had happened and couldn't be undone.

"Then you didn't know the most important thing," Alain said quietly, with anger and... despair.

"Which is?" Josh asked, although he could guess the answer.

"That I would be back."

Josh smiled contentedly. "Well... At some point I assumed that myself. I couldn't..." He paused. Should he say it? But why not? "I can't imagine living without you... so I preferred to selfishly believe that you would return sooner or later."

Alain's face contorted. "After all that, you would still think so...?"

Now it was Josh's turn to blink. He was under the impression they encountered those familiar problems in communication that usually led to wrong conclusions... but today, here and now, he had that safe feeling they were able to clear everything out.

"After all that...? Which means what, exactly? You know, it seems to me we talk about different things again," he said provocatively. "Actually, I never understood why you had disappeared, in the first place..." Yes, that was the greatest mystery here, but he hoped he would finally solve it. "You can... Maybe you'd like to tell me everything...?" he suggested in a kind voice that fitted that situation more than anything, and the next moment, on another impulse, he reached up and brushed Alain's hair aside.

Like many times before, Alain took his hand and kissed its inside, and Josh thought he was glad he was no longer the only romanticist here. Somewhat bewildered, he asked himself how he could ever consider himself an unhappy man... Alain hugged him closer and began to talk, and Josh closed his eyes again and delighted in his touch and voice... his presence - but he was listening intently nonetheless.

When the story was finished, he kept lying in the silence filled with rustle of leaves, chirping of sparrows and buzzing of insects bustling over the flowers. Two emotions struggled in him: one was disbelief that Alain could think something like that; the other was a silent resignation that it was Alain, in every inch. Josh couldn't resist the impression that there was no-one that the proverb 'to change a fly into an elephant' suited better. So that was what had concerned him so much? An issue that Josh had managed to forget and that mattered nothing to him? No wonder it hadn't even occurred to him when he'd tried - unsuccessfully - to figure out the reason behind Alain's disappearance...

How should he react now? He couldn't say, 'You're a total moron,' although it was the first thing that came to his mind. Still, it was hard to find any wise words, especially that he felt too relaxed to demand any effort of his brain - so he postpone that moment, reaching up and kissing Alain gently, which was an effort on its own, but only physical.

Alain, however, was still despondent. "I hurt you," he whispered.

"Don't think about it," Josh replied, looking at him seriously and trying to assure him of his feelings. Now that Alain had started, it was easier to address his declamation. "It was a disease, nothing to speak of. I mean," he checked himself. "Not that I _liked_ it, not at all... No-one likes it when their beloved person suddenly jumps them and screams, 'I'll kill you!' I'm not saying I _want_ it to happen again," he stressed.

Alain looked at him with a frown, his face expressing an obvious repulsion... towards himself. And pain. Ugh, Josh might have been too cruel in his frankness and choice for words... However, he was of the opinion that it was better to call the terrible things by their names than running away from them.

"Yet I don't know if it won't happen again," Alain said in a strangled voice. "If I were stronger... if I were a better man, I would stay away from you. In order to protect you... from my other self."

Now it was Josh who frowned. "It wouldn't make you a better man. Rather worse, for you would deprive me of yourself," Josh replied in a warning voice. "Besides, I think that if you love someone, then you accept both his good and bad sided," he added philosophically. "In this case, literally."

Alain blinked. "Are you not afraid?" he asked quietly.

"Not really. I just don't assume anything like to certainly happen again. If you please, you may call it lack of imagination," Josh replied lightly.

"Or courage," Alain decided. "You're by nature someone who's hardly ever scared of anything, aren't you?" he added with respect.

"I guess so," Josh replied with satisfaction, but he felt somewhat guilty about not being concerned enough, especially when Alain obviously suffered... However, he felt too good and didn't want to fall into depressive notes. He simply had to convince Alain that there was no need to worry... that everything would be fine, just as he believed. That what they needed was faith and hope, not fear.

"I am scared."

"In that case, I just have to be brave for us both," Josh said with a smile. "Besides... The doctor told you the same we'd already heard from Dr Sellier: that a healthy lifestyle reduces the risk of those- the possibility that something like that happens again. Therapy isn't a bad idea, either," he added, somewhat happy that now _he_ could importune Alain for going to therapy. "Personally, I think it's a very good idea," he said in a suggestive manner.

He felt somewhat disappointed when Alain nodded, saying. "Yes, I want to have it."

Well, he couldn't treat it as his victory... It only proved that Alain was much more mature since he wouldn't argue or try to evade things that he could only benefit from.

"You'll see, the therapy is nice," Josh replied distractedly. "I'm sure everything will be fine. That everything... yeah, will be fine," he repeated. "With _us_ ," he emphasised.

Alain gave him an intent look, as if he still found it hard to believe his words. No, Josh wouldn't achieve anything with buoyancy and sole optimism... He sat up and turned to him, so that they were now facing each other. This position seemed better for a serious conversation... although he'd gladly stay in Alain's arms, relishing that sweet feeling of being together he'd been deprived of for so long... He sighed. He wanted to do something that would make that terrible self-hatred disappear from Alain's face. He grabbed his both hand and squeezed to comfort him.

"Yes, with us, for I believe in our future," he said, aware that his words sounded quite high-flown, but maybe it was what Alain needed now. "Frankly, we should have a talk. We should explain things. Reach some conclusions, find a constructive way to cope with each other... but it's no use doing it," he stated with some defeat. "I... I am terribly bad in such things, I prefer to focus on the moment... And when everything is fine, I don't feel like... I don't feel any need to discuss the serious matters," he confessed. "And besides... It won't do. Life writes the scenarios itself, and sometimes we can do nothing about it. We just have to be prepared that everything may happen." He squeezed Alain's hands again. "I think this is the right approach, though it took me a while to realise it. It took me a while to understand that dwelling on my own sorrow won't help a thing, even less would blaming you or bearing a grudge."

He mused over it before going on. "What good it will bring if I tell you that, after you disappeared, I became totally depressed and spent three days in bed? At least I didn't try to jump off the Eiffel Tower, so it's some progress," he added with a smile.

"That's not funny," Alain responded, frowning even more.

Josh, however, continued. "Or that I was mad at you and felt betrayed because you'd broken your promise... Sure, those are quite normal emotions... but there's no point stopping at them. One just has to overcome them and move forward. I think you should do the same," he said, looking Alain in the eye. "Leave behind what is bad... come to terms with it, accept it... give yourself a chance to be happy."

Alain nodded slowly, which gladdened Josh a lot.

"And there's still many good things waiting for you," he said. "You know, sometimes I'm under the impression that nothing happens without a reason. If not for what happened in Paris, I wouldn't have come here, I wouldn't have experienced so much good things here. I'm going to tell you about it..." he added with a shy smile. "In any case, I want to tell you that such is life. With many good and bad things. It's important to focus on those good, like that you're here with me now."

Alain observed him silently - his face still contorted - but squeezed his hands back. "Then, you still want me?" he asked in a strangled voice.

Josh suppressed his sigh. It was somewhat boring... "And what is it that I tried to tell you for last fifteen minutes, delivering all those wise things?" he said, smiling more. "I don't want anyone but you," he stated the obvious.

"Why me?" Alain asked completely seriously.

Josh stared at him in disbelief... and then shrugged. "I have no idea," he replied. "Ask my heart."

"You're shifting responsibility," Alain said with his brows knitted... but the corners of his lips twitched, for the first time during this conversation.

That sight gave Josh a funny feeling in his chest. "I suppose so," he agreed with a wide smile. "I want you... because it's _you_. It's impossible to rationalise one's feelings... but, of course, I can think up thousand of reasons, if you are free and want to listen to them... On the other hand, such inquiring does no credit to your modesty," saying that, he winked. "But seriously now..." He raised to his knees and moved his mouth closer to Alain's temple. "If you still don't believe that I want you... maybe I should prove it to you this way..." He whispered the suggestion to is ear. "Or this..." He resisted the temptation to use his lips to brush the pink lappet beneath the brown, soft hair. "Or this..."

Alain budged... and then turned his head and, before Josh managed to react, kissed him. Right, tempting Alain used to lead to it, Josh remembered. But he could congratulate himself, for he managed to get Alain out of that gloomy mood. In fact, it was the best - and age-old - method to make up and forget all harms, he realised, although gathering the thoughts became somewhat difficult... Soon, however, he ceased thinking at all, for his body was set on fire when Alain slipped his fingers into his hair and pulled his head closer, and sank into a kiss that made Josh see stars. He'd long since closed his eyes, for the scenery had lost whole meaning and wasn't worth looking at.

Well, at least it was clear that _Alain_ still wanted _him_ , too - for one could have some doubts earlier, after all those questions and particular reserve of his... Josh felt he was melting - from the heat their bodies radiated... from the touch of moist lips on his own... from the touch of tongue, its every move, even the lightest one, sending sparks down his spine. He moaned, completely certain he would lose control any moment - but hadn't it happened already? - and tried to move away... to take his breath... to get a grip on the situation... but Alain only cupped his face tighter and sink into him so hard that Josh involuntarily thought he would break his neck, although, simultaneously, he felt such a bliss he thought he would explode soon.

Never breaking the kiss, Alain moved his hands onto his neck, then shoulders, then back, and then embraced his waist and pulled closer - so that there was not a single inch of a space between them. No, Josh could have _no_ doubts - and it set him ablaze even more. It was no wonder; he'd spent a whole month far from Alain... and Alain was the only one who could appease this longing... satisfy this need the only way it deserved. He pressed himself against Alain, giving him mark... begging... for, at this stage, he could no longer express his desire in words, and besides his mouth was occupied... Alain, however, could read that desire very well, and the next moment Josh felt two hands on his clavicles when Alain began to unbutton his shirt. Josh could barely stay in a vertical position, for it seemed to him the whole world was spinning... He wanted nothing more than fall with Alain onto the grass, wrap his legs around him and become one...

Onto the grass? For some reason, the thought was distressing... He moaned from a sudden frustration and once more tried to free himself from those greedy lips of Alain.

"We can't... Not here..." He realised it with some part of his mind that was still working... although he didn't really know where was 'here'. Ah, right, Sainte-Jeanne. No, definitely, it wasn't a right place... "It's enough that my father once caused a scandal in this hospital," he muttered, gasping for air.

Besides... Never mind the staff, but if a patient came across them... No, something like that mustn't happen, and that thought made him move away from Alain, although it seemed the most difficult thing under the sun. Alain gave a cry of objection and reached to him, but Josh shook his head and started to button his shirt, although he'd rather rip it off, for he felt awfully hot. His fingers trembled when he tried to fit the buttons into the holes... Actually, he was trembling all over, and even his teeth clattered.

Alain gave him a dazed look, trying to even his breath, and then ran both hands through his damp hair. He looked as off-balance as Josh felt. Josh didn't want anything more than throw himself back into those arms and dive into that velvet delight he'd been deprived of for so long. Never before had he congratulated remaining where he was as much as now.

"Sorry,' he said once he was able to. "I shouldn't have..."

Alain shook his head. "You're right... it's not a... right place," he replied with difficulty.

"Then... Let's-let's go to my place," Josh stuttered and had to overcome another spell of dizziness. "But we'd better keep a two... three metres distance."

Alain, however, didn't move from the spot. He knitted his brows and gave him a thoughtful look, calming down his breath. "What did you say... about your _father?_ he asked in astonishment.

Josh blinked. Had he really said it? He had to focus... which wasn't easy when his brain was a pudding... However, the next moment he felt he was smiling when he 'remembered'. Suddenly, calm fell on him... as well as great joy. He wanted to share it with Alain so much, everything that had happened... everything he'd learned...! Alain, who was the most important man to him, had no idea about it! Could Josh really think of nothing else but sex?

"Would you listen to it?" he asked in a soft voice; he wouldn't stop smiling. "But it's a long story," he warned.

After a moment of reflection, Alain nodded, so Josh pulled his knees up and put his arms around them. Sitting in a safe distance from Alain, who didn't try to breach that gap, he felt strong enough to speak. And soon he realised it was quite a different story that he'd told Madame Montagne last Monday. Well, not that it was anything strange since it was Alain listening to him now, and with him Josh wanted to share all joy and all sorrow of life.

As he talked - and, like he'd warned, he talked for a longer while - his rampant desire calmed down, and in the end he found himself in Alain's arms again, in the same position they started this conversation in. Alain relaxed, too, and was now radiating feeling of security and confidence. He would listen intently, and Josh appreciated his support - for that was how he explained his attitude.

"And? What are you going to do now?" Alain asked once Josh had finished and was silent.

Josh tore his gaze off the soothing blue over the lilac bushes and glanced into green eyes above, before looking at the sky again. "It was a very general question..." he muttered. "If you ask me what I am going to do about my new relative, then I have no idea. I left him my address, so he'll probably contact me, but what after that... Time will show. To tell the truth, I don't think of it. I'm too old to start and play family now," he announced. Alain said nothing, only embraced him tighter. Josh went on, "As for my plans... My practice here ends the next week. I wanted to go to Paco, to the orphanage, to try to do something for those children... but now..." He looked at Alain again, then gave to the temptation and reached up to hug his neck. "We were supposed to spend the holidays together, right?"

"We can go there," Alain said calmly. "To Paco," he qualified. "I have July off."

Josh stared at him in disbelief, unsure whether he'd really heard it, for it sounded too perfect.

Alain blinked under his gaze and looked away. "That is... If you want it," he added in a softer voice.

"If I want it? Alain, why do you ask me such things?" Josh asked, brushing his cheek. "Of course I want. We can spend the whole July there, if it's okay with you. I'm sure Madame Zircon would have nothing against it," he called and added, "At least, I hope so. After all, two men in a relationship might not be the best example for the children growing in such a facility... On the other hand, we can teach them something about the world... And a lesson of tolerance won't do them any harm. Besides, such a tall and strong man will surely be of use in the house."

Alain nodded and Josh beamed. "In any case, we can do some trips on weekends... Like Idealo, we haven't been there for a while... or anywhere else..." he started to make plans. "But would it be fine with you?" he became anxious. "It's a small town, with nothing in it... and the orphanage isn't a very happy place. I'll be busy with the children... Actually, I don't even know if you likes children. I think you may be bored, and that's the best scenario..." he said in a low voice, realising his joy vanished.

Alain, however, hugged him closer. "With you? How could I be bored in your company, Joshua?" he asked, something breaking in his voice, and when he went on, it didn't come easy to him. "You're more important to me than anything else...! You're the best that happened to me... I love you so much I go crazy when you're not with me." He paused, and his eyes became moist. "I want to stay with you... but I don't know if I won't do something stupid again... and run away again... and make you suffer. How I wish I had your strength... and confidence... instead of this fear, this cowardice..."

Josh gave him a serious look, unable to reply, for his throat clenched with an enormous emotion. He wondered whether he'd heard anything so beautiful from Alain before... something to fill his heart with such a great joy... It was that love he'd believed in, and that belief had helped him to withstand despair. At the same time, his heart clenched with pain, upon seeing that grief he caused himself. The need to comfort Alain was almost physical.

"I'm not at all strong," he responded once he could trust his voice again. "And I lack confidence very often... Don't idealise me," he murmured. "But I understand very well how hard it is to change one's way of being... of feeling. I really _understand_. It's a long process that requires lots of work, not something you can do at will. You're too demanding with yourself. And I accept you as you are. With your weaknesses," he stressed. "And with your much more numerous virtues. So please... stay with me," he said in a strangled whisper.

Two tears fell on his face. Alain wiped his eyes with a quick move. "I promise-" he started, but Josh put one finger on his lips.

"Shh... We don't need any promise. It's good like this. I trust you."

Alain took his hand and kissed it. In silence, they would just look each other in the eyes, and Josh thought he wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

"In that case, let me say one thing," Alain spoke, and there was no longer any uncertainty to his words. "Even if I run away again... I'll always return to you. I can't live without you."

Josh sat up and embraced him with all his might. He wished they could stay like this for ever... and then realised how absurd that wish was. He was... _They_ were going to experience many wonderful times, so stopping at this one was pointless. His eyes full of tears - _definitely_ , he had become too emotional last time - he smiled and said, "That's a deal. I can't live without you, either... so we'll have it easier when together."

When Alain pressed him closer, Josh thought that he would never regret being alive again. He thanked his parents for the greatest gift and laughed laud, ready to meet anything that should happen from now on.

* * *

 _I don't need promises - Maaya Sakamoto, "Yakusoku wa iranai"_

* * *

 **THE END**  
(of Part IV ^^)


	13. Chapter 13

_Bonus_

* * *

"Are you sure we don't disturb anyone...?"

"I think it's a bit too late to ask it... Yes, I am sure. People from day shift are at work, and those from night shift are asleep."

"It's just that you feel strange when you're not in your own bedroom."

"Are you going to complain that the bed is too narrow, as well?"

"It is too narrow; that sarcasm was unnecessary. But we fit somehow, don't we? Speaking of what... haven't you lost some weight?"

"Hardly. Madame watches me, in case I tried to skip my lunch."

"Yes, I can imagine that..."

"But let's not speak of Madame in bed, please..."

"Then, what should we speak of?"

"Must we?"

"..."

"..."

"I've never expected to hear something like that from _you_."

"Oh thanks a lot for calling me a chatterbox."

"But I do like to listen to you. You always have so many wise things to say."

"Still, let me use my mouth for different things."

 _(after a moment)_

"Yes... You certainly can do _that._

"But you're going to laugh at me when I tell you... That time, in high school... It was my first kiss."

"With me?"

"With you."

"And after me?"

"There was no 'after you'."

"...Then I was right. I turned your head so much you never looked at anyone else...? I depraved a poor high-schooler for life, my fault..."

"You don't need to be so ironic. First, you turned my head much earlier, second... Believe me, in my mind I did such things with you that you wouldn't have even imagined at that point. So don't tell me about depraving. Oh gosh!"

"...What amused you?"

"I remembered one supposedly scientific report stating that an average homosexual man has some one hundred partners."

"Oh my God...!"

"Isn't it? Someone must really hard work out a quota for me... Well, there are all kind of people out there."

"Let them be... and take care... of our own... quota."

"Mmm... Mmm... Mm..."

"Are you sure no-one can hear us?"

"What?! Alain, I'm going to say it only once: shut up and forget about other people."

"I wanted to see that expression."

"You're awful... Ah! Do it again... Ah!"

"I love your clavicles."

"Mhm..."

"And your skin... it's so smooth..."

"M...hm... Ah!"

"You're wonderful..."

"Alain, I... Don't do it... I..."

"You don't want it...?"

"Damn you... I w-want..."

"Good, for I started to think you experienced some... dissociation... of your spirit and body."

"It's not fair... You know... I can't now... reply you... Aaah!"

"It's the only situation _I_ can say something wise... Normally I have no chance with you."

"..."

"..."

"Why did you stop?"

"Talking?"

"No, damn it...!"

"I just thought I should have brought some cheesecake from Paris."

"What?! What are you thinking about? Cheesecake? What is cheesecake? And why should we need it now? What would you like to do with it?!"

"..."

"..."

"The way you said it made me feel like some pervert."

"I... No... Please... Touch me... Hurry!"

"In that case, let's do it my way... all right?"

"Your way? Ah... I'm not sure I will last."

"I believe in you."

"M...hm... But... hurry... Yes... Yesss... Mhm... More to the left..."

"Is it good now?"

"It is... Aaa...ah! Aaah! A-Alain...! OH MY GOD!"

 _(banging on the wall)_

"Silence, dammit! People are sleeping!"

.

.

.

.

.

"We're sorry...!"

"SILENCE!"

.

.

.

"I hope Madame Montagne won't know about it. Hug me. Mmm. Good. Thanks..."

"Sleep well. Sweet dreams."

"They will be... sweet... You're... an icing... on my cheesecake..."

"Oh, for every..."

"Thank you for being here... Alain?"

"Yes?"

"Be here when I wake up... will you?"

"...I will. I'm not going anywhere."

"Alain?"

"Yes...?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

 _April - June 2015_


End file.
